


Ambrosia or Acceptance

by V_Parallel



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Action/Adventure, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/F, Romance, Yuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 173,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9194078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_Parallel/pseuds/V_Parallel
Summary: Quinn fears magic and death, both of which surround her at every waking moment. When the powers of Runeterra begin posturing, everything seems so fragile, and though she follows her own path, dictated by no one, she begins to question her responsibilities in life, and discovers that, perhaps, getting swept up in the chaos is all but impossible.





	1. Paz Village

Quinn pushed a branch aside, navigating up the forested hill. Through the canopy, she could occasionally catch a glimpse of Valor, and when she did, she readjusted her course. The sloped terrain was unforgiving. Tall grass hid the countless holes in the ground that were dug by some animal, and once or twice she had to slow herself down or risk spraining an ankle. She had to have been nearly there – wherever there was. She'd been racing after Valor for quite some time now.

As for the reason, she didn't entirely know. All Valor had indicated to her was 'danger'. The Demacian eagle had swept down into the valley she was navigating and suddenly redirected her. Her other activities, those requiring sneaky steps among the Noxians, would have to wait until later. It wasn't often Valor thought something else was more important than their assignment from the army.

Finally, the trees and hills stopped. Quinn took the last few steps and realized she was at the top of a cliff, overlooking a quaint little village. Catching her breath, she examined the place. Farm land extended far to the east and west, and the village was backed against the cliff she was currently on, to the south. Valor settled down beside her, perched on a shoulder height branch of a nearby tree. Together, they continued watching the village.

Just as Quinn was about to complain to Valor, she realized something was off. Judging by the house count, she estimated the village population to be nearly a thousand. Yet there wasn't a single soul in sight.

Evacuated, she wondered?

Not sensing any nearby magic, Quinn crouched down. It was quiet and she didn't think anything overtly nasty could have happened to the village. A Noxian army marching through would leave burning buildings, crops, and people. A single assassin, on the other hand...

And then she saw it. A hundred meters down the dirt path, a single individual walking towards the village. Immediately, she knew both that he wasn't human and that it was him who the villagers were hiding from. A ghostly spirit from the underworld was her first thought. Of course it was impossible, she rationalized. The closest anyone in Runeterra could get to the underworld was the Shadow Isles.

Valor's eyes intently tracked the entity as it made it's way into the village. He wore black cloth over what was _supposed_ to be his body, but instead it looked as if it were simply draped over a green gas, vaguely shaped like a human. His head, however, looked to actually be solid – bone? Or maybe it was just a mask, Quinn couldn't tell from the distance. He held a scythe in one hand, but not one taken from a nearby farm. It looked sharp, personalized in shape and well used. The weapon had probably slain countless people. Upon squinting, Quinn noted there was a chain attached to it, leading to somewhere inside his cloak.

The scene before her developed slowly, almost too slowly. The specter refused to increase his gait from the slow trudging he maintained. Only when he reached halfway into the village did Quinn realize something with a certainty. Something was afoot. A trap, perhaps an ambush by the Demacian military? Only that didn't explain why Valor had dragged her here; the military could handle things on it's own.

Okay, Quinn thought to herself. Worst case scenario, the villagers themselves had prepared a trap and they would all die trying to kill the ghostly spirit of Doom. Best case scenario, the Dauntless Vanguard would jump out of a nearby house and bop the enemy on the head for a quick victory. Though Quinn knew that was thoroughly impossible. Their captain, Garen Crownguard, was in Senta, where the Institute of War was located, when she had left the Demacian Capital. There was no way an armored soldier could have beaten her out this far from the ocean, especially at the pace she had kept. There was no Dauntless vanguard, but perhaps another battalion was stationed here in preparation?

The specter stopped in the village square, which amounted to a well and a few stalls with dried animal hide stretched out on them, and reached into his ghastly body. Then he withdrew – Quinn took a double take, not expecting it – a lantern. It held a green fire inside a wooden frame, probably magically strengthened, and not unlike the rest of his body, it looked extremely old and misused. She watched in confusion, wondering what on earth was about to happen.

But nothing happened. He stood idly by the well, holding his scythe and lantern with bony fingers, as if waiting for someone. He might have been expecting more resistance? Beside Quinn, Valor watched silently, his feathers twitching a couple times. Quinn got the impression her companion was impatient, a rare trait for him to exhibit. Though she couldn't deny she was a little curious and her impatience was growing too.

From a nearby farm, she could hear a sheep baaing. Where she was stationed on the cliff, the birds around her resumed their chirping, having lost interest in her and apparently not being afraid of Valor. Quinn shifted her feet, eyeing the cliff. How fast could she get to the specter in case things went awry? It didn't look like a cliff she wanted to jump down.

Keeping one eye on the specter, she cautiously leaned over the edge and examined the ground below. Twenty or so meters along the cliff, she spotted a building. A smithy's, if she wasn't mistaken. A large outdoor forge was stationed against the cliff, its embers long since cooled. It only confirmed the fact that someone knew in advance of this. Everything about the atmosphere whispered ambush to her. The specter didn't seem to care. Could they feel emotions? Could they experience pain and fear?

Quinn pushed the question away. It didn't matter. Slowly, she made her way over towards the smiths. In case she needed a quick descent, she could jump onto the roof – hoping it didn't collapse – and from there onto the solid ground. It might be a little jarring of a jump, but Quinn was confident she could make it without hurting herself too much. Satisfied with her position, she turned to watch the entity again.

The specter moved. His scythe flew out at an unseen foe, embedding itself into the wall of a nearby house. At the same time, Quinn's eyes caught a shimmer of light moving aside. The specter's lantern glowed a dark green and even from her distance, Quinn could sense the magic within. Dark magic, both very dense and disorienting in its aura. At the same time, his opponent appeared. Quinn instantly rose to her feet.

_A child?_

No, she realized. Not a child. The distance made the young girl look small, but really the specter was just unnaturally large. Her body was petite, but she held a strong aura of magic in front of her that Quinn hadn't been able to notice earlier. Quinn calmed herself and watched as the battle begun. The girl who faced the monster showed no fear.

Light magic seemed to be her theme. She swung a baton whose tip was either golden or simply shining so bright from magic. A beam of light erupted from the end, heading directly towards the specter. Only when he dodged and the girl continued her offensive did Quinn realize what she was watching.

No, it wasn't Garen from the elite Crownguard family and his Dauntless vanguard. It was his younger sister, the light magic prodigy who joined the army at an alarmingly young age and performed dangerous missions behind enemy lines, not unlike Quinn herself. The mage had proved herself valuable to the army and she quickly found herself promoted through the ranks, though considering her elite social status it would likely have happened anyways. Luxanna Crownguard had flowing blonde hair, perhaps more adeptly called golden, and she seemed to radiate light. Up close, Quinn could only imagine the girl was suffocatingly happy and oblivious and exuded an aura of hugs and unicorns. She had found too few contradictions to the dumb blonde stereotype to ignore it now.

Quinn settled down on the cliff, letting her feet dangle off the edge. She was reasonably confident she wouldn't be noticed until she wanted to be. Humans had a tendency not to notice things above them, and she was hoping the specter's brain – or mind, perhaps, considering he was mostly a gaseous entity – worked relatively similar to a humans. Valor gave her a look as if to tell her to go help. Quinn shrugged.

"Look Val, she can handle – ouch, she's a little slow, huh?" Quinn said as Luxanna was sliced by the flying scythe. "What I was saying was – she can handle it herself. I wouldn't want to step in and steal all her glory, right?"

Valor blinked in disbelief, but made no further actions indicating she should get a move on.

The fight had started moving through the village as the Demacian girl threw herself sideways countless times to avoid being cut. Whenever the specter attacked, it seemed like he was trying to destroy the village at the same time. His scythe would break a door open and in the spare seconds he earned during the fight, he would toss his lantern into a haystack or a building or woodpile, igniting it and then gradually reeling the lantern back in while he simultaneously continued his fight with the mage.

When the specter claimed another clean hit on Luxanna, Quinn hesitated. She shouldn't have been here, and she wouldn't have if not for Valor's interference. Getting involved seemed downright dangerous and threatened her overall mission. If she was hurt, even slightly, she would be slowed down and perhaps unable to catch up to the Noxian battalion she was ordered to track. If she simply left now, she wouldn't need to worry about anything else. Besides, Demacian heroes – or heroines, Quinn supposed – were supposed to live and die on the battlefield. There was nothing strange with the scene in front of her.

Yet Quinn continued to watch. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen. With each passing minute, Luxanna slowed. Not her magic, it kept throwing itself out of her baton like a waterfall, but her movements weren't quick enough. More and more often, she would enshroud herself in a blindingly light barrier, letting the specter's scythe dig into it before quickly recreating distance and continuing her barrage of spells. The problem was, Quinn couldn't be sure it was doing anything to the specter. He stumbled upon being hit, but the bursts of light seemed to either travel through him or quietly disappear on contact. Nonetheless, the girl continued fighting valiantly.

And then Quinn heard Valor's wings as he took off. Instinctively, she shoved herself off the cliff at the same time. There was no questioning it. When Valor moved, she did. The six meter fall onto the smith's roof left her feet stinging about as much as she had expected, but she shrugged away the discomfort and threw herself off the roof. Overhead, Valor was quickly making his way into the fray. Quinn started a quick jog down the dirt road leading towards the inner village.

Within seconds, she had joined the semi circle of combatants. Before either Luxanna or the specter noticed her – though they were likely distracted by the bird overhead who swooped down and tried ripping the specter's head off – Quinn unleashed a bolt. It _dissipated_ into the specter's chest, leaving a hole in the cloth but no slowed to a stop. It was probably time to head home, she thought to herself.

It wasn't to be, however. The specter immediately turned his attention towards her, as if she were an easier target to kill than Luxanna. This thought spurned Quinn into further action. With lightning quick fingers, she reloaded her crossbow and moved. Not a moment too soon, she realized as the scythe flew past her. She unleashed the arrow and repositioned herself opposite of Luxanna.

As if someone had hit pause, the battle halted as everyone stopped to reevaluate the situation. Quinn's heart was beating far harder than it had all day as she realized how threatening the specter was up close. Watching from afar and not participating, things were easier to follow and the actions looked slower. Here, she could sense a powerful magical force protecting her enemy, and his movements were much faster, beyond the capabilities of the mutated and magical beasts she had experienced in the forest. It was most obviously not a fought the young mage could win on her own. The specter blocked her view of Luxanna, but Quinn was pretty sure there would be nothing to say to the woman. Their fighting styles were completely different and the best they could do was keep away from each other and their attacks and keep the opponent busy. Reinforcements were coming, right?

The fight resumed. With Luxanna already tired, Quinn found herself fighting more aggressively then usual, keeping the specter blocked and too busy to switch targets. As the fight wore on, Valor made his appearance only a handful of times, saving Quinn at key times and enabling her to recover. Gradually, frustration grew. Her dagger couldn't do any damage to the specter because of the massive scythe always overpowering her when she tried to move in close, and her bolts were in limited supply. There was also the small fact that watching her carefully crafted bolts vanish upon contact with the specter's gassy figure bothered her and broke her concentration.

For the hundredth time, the scythe rushed towards her. Her timing had gradually improved as she learned the traits of the weapon, but her exhaustion slowed her down. She lifted her left foot in a motion to throw herself to her right, but a string of dark blue magic appeared next to her, stretching into a thin magical veil that looked lethal to the touch. She could even feel as magic left the specter and infused it further. It was too late, however, as she'd already committed to dodging the scythe. Unable to alter the laws of physics, she began to fall towards the gas wall. She opened her mouth, to scream or swear, she wasn't entirely sure.

Vision blurred and the scene of a vast beach of fine, yellow sand rushed into her mind. A warm, sunny day on the beach, laying in the sand and listening to the waves crash against the shore. Her brother and parents beside her, she brushed a pile of sand over her feet and felt its warmth as it covered her, forming a shield against the air. The happiest memory she had never experienced.

When Quinn passed through the wall, the light magic that had encased her shattered, no longer protecting her from the elements of reality. She hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of her. She could hear her heart pounding and her laboured breathing, but nothing more. Blinking a few times, she told herself it was only a fall. Her vision, gaining clarity after her entire body had been buried in magic, centered on Luxanna, whose attention was split between her and the specter. Words passed through the girl's lips and Quinn couldn't hear them.

And then she felt tugging on her hair and sat up, spinning her head to glare at Valor before realizing they were in battle and he couldn't have gotten her up so quickly in any other way. He looked apologetic, maybe for more than just pulling her hair. She gave him a forgiving poke and steadied herself on her feet, immediately earning the attention of the specter. When she heard Valor's wings lifting him back into the air, she realized her hearing was coming back too and felt a little calmer.

An indeterminate amount of time had passed since she'd been knocked down, but Luxanna looked worse for wear and a desperation took hold of Quinn. The two of them were not going to win a battle of attrition. A glint of light caught her eye and she looked down. Chain ran along the ground, originating from the specter and leading into a burning pile of logs. The specter's chained lantern. Valor, as if able to read her mind, swooped down to attack the specter and its attention was peeled away from her for a moment. Quinn swore under her breath as the specter pulled on the chain. The lantern rolled out of the fire and into view, and she charged towards it, reaching out and grabbing a hold of it.

Time froze. Her eyes travelled to her hand, as if to make sure it hadn't been amputated or sucked into another dimension. But it was there, gripping tightly. The lantern glowed a darker, more ominous green than it hard during the battle earlier, and somehow Quinn felt her fear subside. The lantern itself didn't feel cold, nor, as she would have suspected, hot from the flames it birthed. As if it were located in a non physical dimension, the metal of the lantern didn't feel _anything_. She knew, logically, that there had to be a temperature attributed to it, but at that moment she couldn't convince herself of it. Nor could she feel her fingers on the lantern. Somehow she knew they weren't numb. Her body still had total control over them, but simultaneously she couldn't conjure enough willpower to move them.

And then, time still suspended and forgotten, she turned her head to see the specter. They were close, when they shouldn't have been. He never moved his body very fast during the battle, but now, somehow, he appeared less than two meters away, staring at her with an expressionless mask of bone. She took a good look at her enemy and realized with a little concern that she wasn't afraid of him at the moment. During battle, he was a fearful opponent, but in this exact moment, her hand attached to the lantern, he was just an angry cloud of green gas that had accumulated under the stresses of magic. He suddenly looked like _less_ , as if she understood his mysteriousness wasn't a threat in itself, and only his scythe could kill her. Scythes were familiar. Therefore her enemy was familiar.

Beyond both her enemy and the village, Quinn's eyes were playing tricks on her. As if she were drugged and no longer lucid, she saw a horizon made up of thousands – millions – of distant flakes, all moving at once in different directions, passing through each other without pause. They were all different colors and relatively similar in shape and size. Some flakes disappeared and reappeared elsewhere. Whenever she tried to focus on a single one, it faded and its neighbours grew more apparent, like stars in a night sky. The hallucinations grew a sense of unease in her stomach, but she couldn't quite determine why.

Behind the specter, Luxanna was frozen in the motion of attacking nothing, blood dripping down her face. Quinn felt slightly confused at the sight. Light moved at nearly three hundred thousand kilometers per second. It was fundamentally impossible to dodge, but here the specter was in front of Quinn, not half the battlefield away where Luxanna's light beam was moving through the air. Seeing the young, injured mage that Quinn had jumped into battle to save, she felt a resurgence of power.

With no warning, her fingers were torn from the lantern and the horizon returned to normal grey clouds and everything began to move again. The specter was back where Luxanna had been attacking him, as if he had never moved at all. The battle continued without anyone acknowledging the pause. Quinn was breathing a little harder and her mind was swimming with questions, but she pushed them aside and threw herself back into the fray, a moment after the barrage of light died against the specter's body.

Hard fought minutes passed where Quinn ended up using three more arrows to deflect the scythe's path because she was unable to move fast enough and Luxanna wasn't able to create her blindingly bright walls of protection. When the scythe flew again towards her, Quinn checked for signs of magic barring her path before rolling over and picking herself up off the ground a short distance from where the scythe passed by. It was a thoroughly trained action by now. She felt no pain, a clear sign of the adrenaline in her system doing its job and allowing her to focus on the battle. Behind her, she could hear Luxanna's heavy breathing. Her opponent was pulling his scythe back, earning her a half second respite. During this time, Quinn looked behind her.

Luxanna's light armor was dented and cut in various places, the cloth covering her shoulder completely sliced in half and clinging to her through sweat, blood, and dirt. Her golden hair was held back by what appeared to be a leather head band, though some stray hairs found their way over her face. She had a bloody lower lip, likely from one of the times she had to recklessly thrown herself out of the way of the scythe, and a gash across her forehead which bloodied her face. Fingers clutched tightly at her baton – up close it looked like nothing more than a plastic toy, though Quinn had no experience with true magical items – and she wore a grim smile on her face.

Their eyes met for a brief moment. Somehow, despite possibly being minutes or even seconds away from death, all Quinn could think about was that Luxanna wasn't at all how Quinn thought she would look. Despite sweating, bleeding, panting, and generally being in a bad condition, Quinn realized Luxanna still had a certain, unexpected allure to her. Maybe it was an inherent beauty that all Crownguards had, but Quinn felt she couldn't deny that the young mage was a pleasant sight in such a disastrous battlefield.

And then Luxanna's eyes flickered away and Quinn spun around and charged the monster.

As she closed the distance, Valor appeared, tugging on the scythe's chain and slowing it. Unexpectedly, Quinn reached the specter undisturbed and her dagger entered into its body. Before she could even think about the success, she had to pull herself away from the counterattack already in progress. She lurched, however, as the dagger refused to remove itself from the rolling green gas. Quinn didn't bother thinking about how badly the laws of physics had been broken during the battle, and instead she let go, abandoning her close quarters weapon in the body of her enemy and escaping with a backwards stumble. The scythe cut her, but she didn't think it was lethal. Probably no worse than Luxanna's injuries.

At some point in the battle, she had bitten her tongue. She spat out as much blood as she could, leaving the rest to dribble down her chin. They had run the battle long enough. A clean hit didn't do any visible damage and now Quinn was one weapon short of being able to put up a proper resistance. Any more fighting and the specter would be in position to launch a quick, all out magical attack to kill both of them.

"Luxanna, leave," Quinn said, forgoing formality despite speaking to a superior in the army. "Valor, accompany her to safety."

Quinn had read too many fantasy books. She watched with hidden bewilderment as Luxanna ran away, having already turned foot before Quinn could finish giving the order to her. As if tied to Luxanna and Quinn by invisible ropes, Valor flew around the air in the space between them, trying to keep at the equidistance between them. Quinn could read his flight and knew he was stressed. She was too, so she felt little pity for him. When she remembered he was the reason they were in the now half-burned village, she felt even less pity for the bird.

If there was one thing Quinn regretted, it was never telling Valor to make sure she was buried back home next to her brother. In all their years together, cold nights, sore backs, and empty stomachs were always more of a threat than death. They had been a good duo, but being suddenly thrown into a battle with a proficient enemy, Quinn realized how much she lacked in combat skills and experience.

She raised her crossbow, deflecting another attack. It wasn't meant to take physical damage and she half expected it to break, but it held strong, at least for another moment. She fired a shot and then stumbled, the air around her turning cold. The blood running down her legs was suddenly noticeable and her anger at the situation grew. Had Luxanna's aura been affecting her that much?

Out of her peripheral vision, she caught sight of the forest that ran along the farmland. It had somehow caught fire. The village itself was already a smoking pile of rubble. She swore at the specter, but it didn't react. When she spat blood at it, however, it made sound that chilled her heart. An ugly, unnatural cackle resonated from his mask. Initially sounding like the fires around her that consumed the wooden building supports, it grew louder and louder until Quinn couldn't take it any longer and rushed him.

He was ready for the attack, expecting it. His lantern, which no longer had targets to burn, swung towards her. Despite having no sharp ends and cutting faces, Quinn had no doubts about what would happen if it hit her full force. She changed course to the side, withdrawing a bolt from her quiver to act as a replacement dagger. Like a shield, she kept her crossbow in front of her when the lantern collided. She was determined not to break stride, knowing the scythe would follow immediately afterwards, but the momentum of the lantern was too much. She knocked it away, into the air, and the impact spun her. She saw the scythe, as if time had froze again. She also saw a beam of light materializing along her original path towards the specter.

The light began to build, rapidly growing in circumference and magical aura. At the same time, movement in the sky caught her eye. Valor, in a spectacular dive, swooped in. His claws latched onto the airborne lantern, snatching it in a death grip that Quinn knew nothing could break free from. The light that had coalesced from nothing kept growing, shining through the specter and his chains as if he weren't there and continuing down the village's central dirt path. It seemed to keep going, fusing with the horizon in the distance.

In one moment, Quinn saw the scythe heading in her direction, and in the next, whiteness. The light had instantly broadened to cover her entire field of vision and she became blind as a surge of magic stronger than she'd ever experienced before seemed to cut her from the world itself. And then, an unmistakable pain took hold of her. Magic, tearing her apart. Adrenaline exhausted, her body lay itself vulnerable. She could feel as the scythe entered her, cutting into her thigh. It flayed her skin as it ran deep through her body, cutting her muscles. Like a thistle, it violently tore at the flesh, leaving it open for the light magic to attack it, to dissolve her insides and boil away the blood.

And then, Quinn gave up hold on the unpleasant feelings and awareness of her body. The light faded, and darkness took its place.


	2. Recovery

"Was she conscious when it happened?"

A hesitation. "No eyewitnesses."

"I don't understand – she was alone out there?"

"No," a voice rushed to ensure. "Definitely not. But no one was watching at the time."

A third voice interrupted the conversation. "Don't worry about it. Just don't say anything about it – it's not like the knowledge would benefit anyone."

"Ah, she's awake."

The first speaker swore.

Someone laughed. "Seriously? Chill out. She's drugged. No way in heaven – or hell – she'll remember this."

* * *

Quinn could hear pandemonium in the hallway before she even realized she was awake. A hand belonging to a terrified young woman in white robes opened the door and quickly pulled back, disappearing. Valor entered, waddling in on two feet because of the narrow entryway.

_Penguin_. If Quinn had been a little more capable, she would have spoken the word aloud.

Once inside the room, he spread his wings and flew onto her bed, nearly knocking a lamp off the bedside table. Feeling Valor's weight on her chest, she finally realized she was awake. Their eyes met for a moment and Quinn felt relief – exhaustion, but relief. They were alive, and that was what mattered, no?

Valor dropped his head down and rubbed it against her cheek.

"Yeah," she croaked. "Yeah, good morning."

He cocked his head, giving her a telling stare.

"Evening," she said with a little despair. "Good evening."

Satisfied, Valor moved aside and snuggled against her like a cat. She refrained from reminding him he was a majestic Demacian eagle and not an adorable little animal who could cuddle without worrying about their image.

Quinn set about examining her surroundings. The bed was too soft, the room was too small, the sounds too muffled, the lighting too artificial, the walls too bare, and, most telling, a clean, antiseptic smell wafted through the room. A hospital, without any doubt.

"I remember getting my ass whooped," she said.

A beak pressed into her for confirmation.

"And there was – what's her name-"

"Luxanna Crownguard, at your service." Through the door which Valor hadn't closed, Luxanna entered, giving a quick salute.

"Ah." Quinn gave Valor a pleading eye, hoping he would scare Luxanna off by acting like a feral animal. She'd been chocked full of too many drugs to manage a normal conversation with a superior from the army. Conversations were hard enough as it were, the formality and other niceties just made it not worthwhile.

Thankfully, Valor raised himself from his resting position and took flight. His massive form looked much more intimidating inside a hospital room as compared to kilometers distant in the sky. Problem solved, Quinn dropped her head back onto the pillow, sinking into the soft down much more than she had anticipated. The gasp of surprise or shriek of terror never came, and Quinn reluctantly popped an eye open.

"Oh no," she muttered to herself.

Luxanna had stepped forward and Valor had found a roost on her left shoulder. She was small enough that she had to tilt her head away to make room for him, but she had a goofy, lopsided grin as she watched Quinn, clearly not the least bit surprised or afraid of her new accessory. In fact, the pair standing in front of her looked relatively comfortable, as if it weren't a new thing.

"I – I've been out for awhile, I take it?" Quinn said.

Both Luxanna and Valor nodded simultaneously. The eagle's large size and Luxanna's small size made for an almost comical sight. Instead of laughing, however much the drugs made it seem like a good idea, Quinn found herself struggling to contain her anger. It was betrayal, but it wasn't. Quinn might have thought of it as betrayal, but if Valor didn't – and looking at him confirmed he didn't – then the fact was that it wasn't. It meant something, Quinn knew, but she wasn't entirely sure what. Never in their two plus years of being together had she ever seen Valor perch on someone else's shoulder.

Quinn pushed the thoughts away, knowing there would be time for them later. Instead, she spend a few seconds moving into a sitting position and coming up with something appropriate to say to her superior.

"Ma'am. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Luxanna stepped forward, casually shaking her shoulder to send Valor back to the bed. "Do I need a reason to visit my saviour? And please, call me Lux."

"You do me much honor, but I only played only a minor role in your battle against the great specter." It sounded good to Quinn's ears. Maybe she was finally getting the hang of it?

Luxanna took a seat on the stool next to the bed. She turned to Quinn and leaned close, causing Quinn to squirm uncomfortably under the blankets. "Could you, maybe, I dunno, _stuff it_?"

"Excuse me?" The words escaped Quinn's lips before she could think.

"I am not my brother," Luxanna said. She sounded hurt, and Quinn instinctively looked away. "For heaven's sake, I'm younger than you! Could you please treat me like you would a friend – or, or at least an acquaintance?"

Quinn sighed, dragging a hand out from under the blankets to pet Valor. His feathers, while not the softest thing around, were comforting in their familiarity. "My apologies, Luxanna. I'm thoroughly exhausted and I do believe I am under the influence of a great many drugs, so perhaps we should continue this conversation at a later date?"

Luxanna, not looking at her, seemed to deflate. "Really?" she said. The question didn't seem to be in response to Quinn's suggestion, but Quinn didn't care.

"Yes ma'am."

Quietly, Luxanna rose from the stool. Without another word, she left the room, gently closing the door behind her. The humming of the air conditioning was the only sound Quinn could hear.

Valor pecked her.

She sighed.

The word 'friend' had put her in a bad mood.

Throwing off the bed's covers, she spent ten minutes stretching before a desire for sleep made her pull the sheets back over her body. There were a handful of scars on her in new places, but she hadn't examined them closely. That, too, was for another day.

Doctor Miranda had informed her she would be free to go the next day. Quinn would have left anyways, damned be the consequences, so the news didn't influence any of her plans. Her body was almost in peak condition, having recovered from her injuries and being only slightly out of practice from the constant sleep and lounging around. The first half of the day consistent of stretches, to make up for her lack of movement. She learned she was in a hospital in the Demacian capital, and that four days had passed since the specter's attack. Her mission to track a regiment of Noxian soldiers was now only possible if she blindly travelled through the eastern side of the continent and just so happened to run across their destructive path. The Demacian army was fully aware of her failure and probably had a new, more pertinent mission for her.

It was evening when a knock on the door broke her thoughts.

"Come in," she said. Valor wasn't around for moral support. He was out hunting and enjoying the fresh air. Quinn was a little jealous of her companion. Not to mention his knack for suddenly befriending people.

Luxanna entered the room holding a newspaper and smiling. Speak of the devil, Quinn thought to herself.

"Luxanna," Quinn said, bowing her head slightly and rolling her eyes when the mage couldn't see.

"Hi Quinn," Luxanna said, more cheerful than at the end of her last visit. Her words sounded oddly pleasant, which Quinn concluded was because she didn't hear her own name spoken aloud very often. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"Hmm. Good, good. The prince is at the League right now, so I'm passing on orders from Sir Berell." Luxanna brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, an action that Quinn had seen before, when they fought the specter together. "Oh, and I also wanted to talk about the Paz Disaster."

Quinn raised her eyebrows while experiencing a slight sinking feeling in her stomach at the ominous word. "Disaster?"

Unperturbed, Luxanna smiled. "Yeah, literally. Like the capital 'D' kind of disaster that goes into textbooks."

"I don't understand. It wasn't that bad, was it? What exactly happened?"

Luxanna seemed pleased at the question. "The enemy we fought, the specter, its name is Thresh."

"We – you – didn't kill it?"

"No," Luxanna said, with a mild laugh to accompany it. "We didn't."

"Okay," Quinn conceded. "I'm not going to interrupt anymore, fill me in."

"Gladly," Luxanna said, eyes roaming the bare hospital room. "Thresh was moving eastward at a pretty slow speed. That means it might have come from Noxus, but the implications of that are a little complex and there's no proof it was an intentionally summoned weapon. Anyways, we had plenty of warning from survivors of previous villages along his path, so the army sent out a regiment to kill him – it – him – I don't know."

Lux through her hands up in mock defeat at the pronoun dilemma. Quinn considered the specter for a moment. Human enough? The specter took a human shape, at least...

"Him," Quinn said, making the decision.

"Him," Lux nodded in agreement. "Anyways, Garen wasn't around to lead the Dauntless so it was determined the best course of action was to send me and a large regiment to overpower Thresh. I was a few hours ahead, scouting, when I came across a massive group of people evacuating Paz."

"Paz?" Quinn said, once again breaking her promise not to interrupt.

"The village we fought in was named Paz."

"Oh." _Was_ – past tense. Now it was a giant pile of ash and burnt wood.

"Anyways, they were moving too slowly. When I got to the village and saw Thresh, I knew I had to make a stand or risk him catching the elderly and the young who were trailing behind."

Quinn nodded. It was the expected result, given Luxanna was a Demacian.

"I might have underestimated him a little. Some say he's from a different dimension, some say he was summoned from the Shadow Isles, while others claim he's a monstrosity created by Noxus or Zaun. Whatever he is, he's strong."

Again, Quinn nodded.

And then, like in the previous visit, Luxanna dragged her chair closer, and leaned in. Quinn could see the faint remnants of bruises and cuts on her face, but Luxanna's attractiveness surprised her. Whereas her skin was darker from spending nearly every day outside, Luxanna's skin was pale, protected by her light magic aura, which she probably commanded subconsciously at all times. If not for the recent injuries sustained from Thresh, it would look like Luxanna had just returned from a photo shoot for the military's propaganda division. But Quinn was staring – a little too much, she realized as she diverted her attention to Valor. How bad was her own face? She hadn't even thought of getting a mirror to check.

Quinn could even smell the faint aroma of a fruity perfume on the girl. The only other females she'd ever been so close to were her mother and those she killed on missions. Neither made for good memories. Before Quinn could react, Luxanna took hold of her hand.

"You saved me. I don't care what you think, you saved me. Thank you."

Quinn shook her hand free, blushing at the unexpected contact and words. "You – your welcome."

Lux sat back up, casually resuming her recap. "The village is burned. The crops, all the farmland. Seventeen thousand acres of forest."

"The forest?" Quinn said, simultaneously remembering what she saw during the battle. The fire had spread to the trees along the farmland. It leaped farther and burned hotter than any other fire she'd seen before, and it was very possible they were lucky it ended as soon as it did. If it had jumped the main trade route connecting Demacia to Senta, the fire could have destroyed the entire southern area, which was heavily forested and much more vulnerable than the region around Paz.

Quinn knew it wasn't right, but the loss of forest bothered her more than the loss of the village.

"But no one died," Luxanna said. "No elderly or young from the village, not even any soldiers from the regiment."

"So – so we did defeat him?"

Luxanna hesitated. "In a way."

"What do you mean?"

"The chain connecting his lantern snapped. Valor flew off with it and Thresh, he – well, he lost the will to fight, I guess?"

Quinn looked at her doubtfully.

"Seriously," Luxanna insisted. "He sort of stopped moving and just watched as Valor flew higher into the sky. Eventually, the lantern's green light blinked out and Thresh sat down, waiting to be contained. I wasn't about to attack him, considering – well, considering your condition. Luckily, Fiora and Taric showed up. They were on their way back from the League and followed the trail of death and rumors. With their help, we kept Thresh contained and had you brought to the hospital."

"He's contained? Where?" Quinn said, hoping it was at least a kilometer underground with the weight of the earth keeping him from ever seeing the light of day again.

Wordlessly, Luxanna handed her the newspaper. 'Demacian Constant' was written in large letters at the top. Quinn read the date, confirming only four days had passed. Then, she turned her attention to the main article. A picture of Thresh, high resolution yet lacking the oppressively dark magical aura. Beneath it, the caption, 'Thresh: a specter of death, or something else entirely?'.

"For what it's worth, I think he's a specter of death," Luxanna said.

It wasn't worth much, and Quinn made a noncommittal hum before beginning to read the article. It only took her a moment to find the information she wanted. The Demacians had handed him over to Institute of War.

"It's a good thing, really," Luxanna said. "He's under the control of the high Summoners – he won't be able to go anywhere."

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

Quinn continued scanning the article. "For what?" Even when she wasn't on a mission, she rarely read the paper. Current events washed passed her without notice.

"For saving my life."

Quinn mentally pointed out she had already been thanked before, as she focused on the newspaper and began to read the article in detail. Eventually, Luxanna would get the hint. Quinn hoped.

_-it wasn't to be, however, as Luxanna Crownguard,_ _a_ _renown mage,_ _champion of_ _League_ _of Legends,_ _and Major in the Demacian army_ _,_ _arrived_ _on scene._

Quinn was slightly amazed at how much she had learned in reading one sentence. She'd always known Luxanna was her superior, but the rankings of the army eluded her. Major was something major, wasn't it? What was Quinn again? Some kind of corporal? Stopping assassins was much too overrated. Either way, the article had another surprise. Somehow she had forgotten Luxanna was a member of the League of Legends. At such a young age, her accomplishments really were noteworthy. Quinn might have even been impressed, if Luxanna hadn't been a Crownguard. Children of the noble families were handed all the opportunities they could ever want.

The unnatural silence had grown a little too distracting. "Why aren't you at the League with your brother?"

Luxanna smiled – not that she hadn't been smiling before, but now it was more pure – a conniving innocence? "I'd like to say it's because I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Her words had been a little too hopeful. The conversation seemed staged, like Luxanna had prepared a script for her to follow. Quinn acquiesced. "But...?"

"But because we burned down a forest, a couple villages, and a bunch of farmland, we made some people very angry. I was sent out of public sight for awhile. At least until things cool down."

"Ah. Wait – a couple _villages_?"

"If you'd kept reading, you'd see the fire spread from the forest to more farmland and then some nearby villages. No one died, but someone needed to be blamed for all the property damage and burned crops."

"I see. Am I going to get assaulted if I visit the market for a new dagger and crossbow?"

Luxanna shook her head, leaning back on the stool. "No. If you read even further, you'd learn that the fires started well before you arrived to help."

Quinn tried to remember. Some houses had burned, but the forest hadn't caught on fire until well into their battle. "That's not true."

"Winners – uh," Luxanna frowned for a moment, "write history?"

Quinn gave a subtle shake of her head and roll of her eyes. "History is written by the victors."

"That's it!" Luxanna said with a snap of her fingers while nodding her head furiously. "Anyways, I kept you out of the story as much as possible. I thought you'd want that, since you're, y'know?" Luxanna hesitated in the silence. "I'm sorry, did I make a mistake? I swear it wasn't about fame for beating Thresh or anything!" Lux had her hands clasped together, as if begging Quinn. Speaking a little quicker, she leaned in. "It's just, you like to keep to yourself and you helped me and I really, really, really didn't want to see you take any blame for what happened and I couldn't – I couldn't mention your name without the Demacian Constant wanting to interview you and I didn't think you would like being interviewed and you-"

"Stop," Quinn said. The sudden silence left Quinn realizing she had just given an order to a superior. Maybe it was because Luxanna seemed to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but it was easy to forget Quinn was talking to a high ranking soldier. "I mean, please, slow down. I do appreciate you letting me keep a low profile. Thank you. And for – uh, for taking the blame over the fires." Quinn scowled slightly, which Luxanna did not seem to notice. "I owe you."

The young mage clapped her hands in delight. "You know what would be fun?"

Quinn remained silent.

"When you get out of the hospital, we should go out for supper! To celebrate our victory!"

Ah. Quinn had walked straight into that one.


	3. Dinner

Her plan to leave quietly failed before she even exited the hospital. Quinn ran into the mage in the lobby. The seriousness Luxanna had exhibited in battle seemed so distant from the girl in a bright cyan sundress happily waving at her. She drew more than a few stares in the hospital's lobby, but looked completely oblivious to the men and woman who stopped what they were doing to watch. Beauty, or fame, Quinn wondered? Maybe a little of both.

She rushed forward, hoping to quickly usher them out of the spotlight.

"Quinn, I'm glad to see you're out," Luxanna said, giving her a completely innocent look.

Watching her warily, Quinn sighed. How had Luxanna known exactly when she was going to be discharged?

The hospital lobby was emptying as people realized they had duties to attend to, and they found themselves suddenly alone, excepting a receptionist who seemed fully enraptured by a page on her clipboard.

There had to have been an ulterior motive, Quinn rationalized. Superiors tended not to eat meals with their soldiers unless it was for PR, or something along those lines. Perhaps a questionable job arose that only she could perform? If it meant leaving the city, Quinn would be happy to oblige. If there was no mission, it was still Quinn's intent to leave. She might busy herself with tracking the Noxian army division that had escaped her when Thresh attacked, or else look into the rumors of a second, hidden passage through the Ironspike Mountains. Either option sounded appealing, and even thinking about it made Quinn impatient to find herself outside of the city. It was as if the forest was calling for her, and like a good friend, Quinn didn't want to keep it waiting.

Of course, there was still Luxanna to handle. It occurred to her that Luxanna might have even predicted she would skip town as soon as she was discharged. Quinn had sensed a deviousness from her during their battle with Thresh. Something was definitely afoot. It was still early in the afternoon so at the very least she could brush Luxanna off with an excuse and find a chance to escape in the intervening hours before their dinner.

Quinn forced a smile. "So I am. Listen – I have some shopping I need to do-"

"I'll come."

Quinn sputtered, her momentum torn away ruthlessly. "What?"

"Let's go shopping," Lux said. "It sounds fun! We can grab a meal afterwards."

"You don't have to," Quinn tried. "I'm going to be shopping for a new blade and bow; it'll be boring."

Luxanna stood a little taller. "Then we can make it fun. I'll buy a sword – you can help me pick one out."

Quinn looked around the room, as if expecting to find a distraction or excuse in the quiet workings of the hospital. She failed. For a moment, she considered feigning a sudden illness, but her questionable acting skills made her decide otherwise. Instead, she had a simpler plan.

Quinn nodded. "If you insist."

Together, the pair of them left the hospital and navigated the streets until they arrived at the open air market. Quinn crossed her arms, looking around with a frown. The last time she'd been at the market was nearly two months ago. Things had changed. The location of her favorite craftsman was instead home to a veal stall, which claimed to sell only the freshest of meats, but Quinn very much suspected otherwise. She stared at it in disbelief. The city changed even as the forest remained frozen in time. She could count on the elder trees always being there as landmarks through mazes of seemingly identical trees, and her stash trees would never uproot themselves and plod away, leaving her survival gear and money unguarded.

Luxanna, who had been surprisingly quiet as she followed, spoke up. "What, are you hungry already?"

She wasn't, and she ignored Luxanna's gibe. Without checking to make sure the young mage was following, she set off at a brisk pace along the rough cobble road. They passed a shoemaker and his wares, Quinn hesitating before remembering she still needed enough money for a new crossbow.

The market wasn't as quiet as Quinn had thought it would be. Usually the stalls opened early in the morning and everyone flooded into the market then, when the food was fresh and nothing was sold out. By the time afternoon rolled around, some places would already be closed and the most conscientious of shoppers done for the day. The sky was overcast but the temperature warm, and Quinn felt refreshed as she walked down the side streets. Being confined in a hospital for nearly a week had almost driven her insane – in addition to the overly cheerful visits from Luxanna. At least she hadn't left early. The last time she skipped out on the healing process, her injury got infected and Valor had mocked her relentlessly. Listening to Demacian doctors was a good idea, she had learned.

"Here," Luxanna said suddenly.

Quinn instinctively stopped, raising her eyebrows at the stall Luxanna stood in front of. It had completely escaped her eyes, as did every upper class place. One price tag immediately caught her attention. Six thousand Demacian notes for a dagger. Unfortunately, just the simple act of looking at it caught the craftsman's attention. He swooped in with a large smile, larger mess of a beard, and even larger voice, clearly perfected through countless sales.

"I see the carbon compacted steel dagger has caught your eye," he boomed. "It's truly a fine piece of work, best you'll ever use, guaranteed. You have a sharp blade here," he said while picking it up and tilting it to show the edges. "Guaranteed to be sharper than any others you can find. It's higher carbon content means it's guaranteed not to shatter under even the harshest of circumstances; it can hold against even a genuine dragon, though I don't recommend you find yourself a dragon just to test it. It was made by my father, Eltor, so you have lifetime guarantee on it. You can make no better purchase even if you were to shop all day!"

Quinn spared a glance at Luxanna during his spiel, and mentally gave up when she saw Luxanna's eyes shining with reverence.

"Didn't you want a sword, not a dagger?" she asked as they walked away, Luxanna casually carrying her new purchase, wrapped in goatskin cloth, at her side.

Luxanna looked at her, then at her purchase. "Huh. I guess I did say that. There's always next time?"

Their shopping continued, though Luxanna's purchases suddenly slowed down, leading Quinn to believe that maybe noble families didn't actually have unending pockets of gold. A couple times, when Luxanna seemed particularly intrigued by an item on sale, Quinn would stop and wait, and then quickly disappear back into the crowd once she thought Luxanna was thoroughly distracted. The escape attempts always ended with Luxanna somehow reappearing at her side, tugging on her shirt with an exaggerated pout, but otherwise completely silent. Each time, Quinn would quickly look away with a shrug, as if to say 'sorry, I didn't realize you weren't behind me'.

Eventually, Quinn stopped at a fletcher's on the outskirts of the market, near the residential district.

"You have any 480 grain bolts here?" she asked of the man attending the booth.

Looking up from a broken arrow he was examining, the man glared at her, clearly displeased at the interruption. He snapped the arrow in half, before turning his attention towards Luxanna, several feet back. Luxanna shifted uncomfortably and Quinn stepped forward.

"You hear me?" Quinn said.

The man dropped his arrow fragments, grabbing a large box from a shelf behind him, and hefting it onto the table between them.

"Here's wha' you wan'," he said, revealing a surly voice. "Now how many you wan'?"

He was still looking past her, and made no move to stop her as she opened the box and picked one of the bolts, examining it. It might have been her mind playing tricks on her, but it didn't feel right. Lighter than her usuals, she wondered? She turned it in hand several times.

"These are four eighty?" Quinn asked again.

"'Tha's what I said."

Quinn looked around the booth. There were more arrows than bolts here – it probably wasn't the right place to shop.

"You have a scale?"

The man finally turned his attention to her.

"You don' believe me?" he demanded, snatching the bolt out of her hand and dropping it back in the box.

"Quinn," Luxanna said from behind her.

Quinn ignored her. "They feel light."

He picked one up with a laugh. "Ligh'? Then they should be good for a girlie like you."

"Quinn," Luxanna said again, this time pulling aggressively on her shoulder.

Quinn spun around, taking her anger out on Luxanna. "What?"

Luxanna pointed. A trio of soldiers were walking through the market, in their direction. Quinn suddenly forgot the man and his insult, her eyes narrowing. They were Demacian soldiers, so why-

"We have to go," Luxanna said. "Run!"

Stronger than Quinn expected, Luxanna grabbed her arm and pulled her away. She found herself at a near-jogging pace as they left in the opposite direction of the soldiers.

"Hey – hey, wait!" Quinn gasped, trying to look back to see if they were even noticed. "What are you doing? I need bolts."

Luxanna didn't respond as she pulled them into the residential district, and then into and through a back alley. Finally, she slowed to a stop in a courtyard which they found themselves in. Quinn looked around. It was empty, except for a well situated in the middle of the paved plaza. Luxanna slowly walked towards it, and Quinn followed.

"You weren't going to buy anything from that guy anyways. I didn't like him."

"And that was going to stop me?" Quinn demanded.

Luxanna brushed the cobblestone well's edge with her hand, and spun around to cautiously sit on it. Quinn might have said something about it being unladylike to dirty her sundress, if she hadn't been angry at their sudden, unexplained departure from the market. It had been Quinn's first run since leaving the hospital, but she wasn't the least bit tired. The sight of soldiers had her adrenaline pumping and she was half ready for a fight, but only Luxanna was there.

"His looks were inappropriate," Luxanna whined.

Crossing her arms, Quinn glared at her. "Soldiers," she said, refocusing the conversation. "Why did we run?"

With a sudden change of attitude, Luxanna threw her head back and laughed. "You're my accomplice now," she said.

Quinn stepped around the insane mage, and peered into the well. So many emotions would be calmed by just pushing the girl in and walking away.

"An accomplice," Quinn repeated, not liking the sounds of it.

"Hey, back there you said something about 480 grain. What did you mean?"

"It's the weight of the bolt," Quinn said before catching herself. "Now – what am I an accomplice in?"

Luxanna leaned back, perilously close to falling into the well, and she didn't even seem to notice. "So you didn't mean grains of rice? You know, I'm sort of hungry, talking of rice and all."

Quinn was gradually learning that when it came to Luxanna, not all the information she desired could be attained at once. Instead, it took patience, and a little coaxing.

* * *

Quinn entered the restaurant with light steps, as if expecting a bolt of lightning to strike her down for betraying the forest's way of life. Inside, her senses were overwhelmed. Families and groups of merchants and adventurers crowded the place, their conversation all combining into a bedlam of voices which couldn't be made sense of. The place wasn't as well lit as normal shops – instead, natural lighting was most prevalent, and flames from the cooking in the back, where the chefs were hard at work, casted dancing shadows over the walls. The smell was the most unexpected of all. Quinn had never been to a restaurant before. She understood the concept – someone made you food and you paid them – but she grew up in a village without a single restaurant, and her time since leaving Everridge had been swamped with inaction and action – either never having enough money to visit a restaurant or high quality food never being something on her mind.

That wasn't to say she always made her own food. The Demacian army was infatuated with banquets, throwing one for any reason they could conjure. On two occasions, she had been the subject. Half the army revered her, and the other half wanted her dead, her name wiped from their military's history. On both occasions, she had tried her best to disappear as early on as possible, but not after trying a selection of the dishes that were offered. She had found the meat overdone and the salad's dressing too strong. She had enjoyed a few dishes, such as their pasta, and ocean fish.

Quinn looked around the place, trying to decide if she liked the smell of countless dishes being served and the chaotic atmosphere of the place. Keeping several steps behind Luxanna, she followed their waiter deeper into the restaurant.

"I should apologize," Luxanna said when they were seated. "It's sort of a confession, too. I should have told you earlier, but – well, I mean – no. I've no excuse."

Quinn awaited the explanation patiently.

"I was really trying not to, but you were so far away and it was hard to focus and all, and I hit you pretty badly with my magic."

"What?" Quinn said, the words escaping her lips a little too soon.

"Back at Paz, when I broke Thresh's chain with my spark magic. You were caught up in it pretty badly. It wasn't the worst of your wounds, but I hurt you. I'm sorry."

Quinn shook her head, bringing a hand up to stop Lux. "No – I'm sorry, but can we _please_ talk about what just happened?"

Luxanna gave her a blank stare. "Huh? This restaurant is good, right? I was thinking you'd like it, but... was I wrong?"

Quinn balled her hands, patiently refraining as the waiter came to take their orders. She ended up ordering a random item off the menu, while trying to figure out how Luxanna managed to infuriate her so.

"I'm kidding," Luxanna said once they were alone again. "You want to know why I said you were my accomplice."

Quinn nodded, despite it not being phrased as a question.

"Truth is, I had a message to pass on to you from prince Jarvan." Luxanna took a sip of water, poking at an ice cube in her cup before turning her attention back to their conversation. "They wanted to throw a banquet in our honor, for subduing Thresh and all, but I thought this would be more fun."

Quinn stared, wide eyed, re-evaluating the girl sitting across the table from her. Refusing orders and running from soldiers? Again, Quinn was reminded of the deviousness she saw in Luxanna at the Paz battle. It might have been simply impossible to get a read on the girl. In comparison, Garen was a book. Were they really siblings?

* * *

When their food arrived, Quinn watched the exchange with curiosity. The waiter left, and Luxanna looked up with a curious frown.

"Something wrong?"

"Uh," Quinn hesitated. "Why didn't you pay?"

"Because we're not done," Luxanna stated simply.

Quinn pulled her plate closer, but wasn't yet willing to eat it.

"But the transaction is done," she said.

Whatever she had requested, it looked delicious. There were a side of cooked potatoes, cut in thin strips, and the sandwich featured a giant chunk of meat inside. It was probably overcooked, as most people ate their meats in the Demacian capital, but the sandwich also had plenty of vegetables to make up for it.

Luxanna leaned forward, her meal seemingly forgotten as she grinned. "Don't tell me – you've never been to a restaurant?"

The incredulity in her voice made Quinn look away, embarrassed. When she had first entered the army, she had learned countless small details of civilized life, but there had been too much know, and occasionally she would make a misstep and be laughed at. Despite Luxanna not laughing, that was what Quinn was reminded of.

"I've never had reason to," Quinn said, grabbing a fork impatiently before putting it down and grabbing the one beside it in attempt to subtly examine the difference. "Now, will you quit smiling? I'm well aware how – how odd it is."

"Hmm," Luxanna sang. "It appears I'm dining with a barbarian."

Quinn put down the second fork, and picked up the knife, running a finger along its edge. "Yes, and if you don't want potato in your hair, you'll look down at your food and start eating."

Luxanna giggled, as though delighted by the threat. "I'm sorry – but I'm happy too. Really! I'm glad I'm with you for your first time. I'll try my best to make it as pleasant of an experience as possible."

Quinn blushed, finally picking up a fork at random and stabbing a fry. "Just eat. Quit making a big deal out of this."

The meal turned out better than she'd expected, and much more filling. Halfway through the fries, Luxanna grabbed a condiment bottle and squirted a red sauce onto her plate, and then stole a fry, dipped it in the sauce, and ate it. Their eyes met for a moment, before Quinn mimicked her.

They continued eating in silence for a few minutes, before Luxanna's eyes lit up again. "Oh, I know!"

She wiped her hands on a napkin and then fished around suspiciously in her purse for a moment, before pulling out an envelop. She offered it to Quinn, who took it reluctantly.

"What is this?" Quinn said.

"Money."

Quinn opened the envelop, confirming that there was, indeed, money inside. Eight thousand Demacian notes, Quinn counted. She looked up at Luxanna for an explanation.

"That was another reason to meet with you – I just forgot about it. Payment for your services in stopping and subduing Thresh, courtesy of the banquet-loving military."

"I see," Quinn said, thinking that it would have been nice to have before they started the shopping. How had Luxanna forgotten such an important thing?

* * *

The meal satisfied Quinn's stomach, and Luxanna accompanied her on an evening walk, insisting they 'digest their food', before calling it an evening. The walk had been a little chaotic, as they had to avoid patrols throughout the city and got lost down strange alleys a handful of times, but the residents were always delighted that Luxanna was visiting their neighbourhood, and directions offered were never in short supply.

By the end of the day, they had returned to the market, where Quinn had made the rest of her purchases necessary to return to the forest, and they parted ways. Quinn found herself at her house.

Her home.

Following her successful counter-assassination during a standoff at the Noxus-Demacia border, she had been honored, praised, and promoted much too far – so far, that the Demacian military conferred a house to her. It was a two floor open-design house on the oceanfront on a street where nobles lived almost exclusively. The Crownguard mansion was only a fifteen minute walk away, and various military headquarters could be reached within half an hour. It was prime property, valued at probably more than her entire family had made during their entire lives.

Quinn had spent a grand total of six nights in the house, never two consecutive, since receiving it last year. The last time, she had promised herself during future stays she would sleep in the bed for the entire night, no matter how distracting it was to have such an unnaturally soft surface to sleep on. It was her attempt at wiping Everridge from her memory. She was more welcome in the capital, with elitist nobles who loathed her, than back in her birth village.

Valor fetched the house key for her from somewhere on the roof where he kept it when they left town, and Quinn opened the door, cautiously entering. Part of her felt like she was supposed to announce her arrival, as though entering a neighbour's house. It was her own house, however. Yes, most definitely her own, she thought as she turned on the lights. They flickered several times before steady dim lights illuminated the place. The entryway was open all the way up to the roof, leaving Valor plenty of room to fly from their bedroom down to the kitchen or out one of the extra wide windows. Whoever had renovated the house for their arrival had certainly been mindful of Valor.

The door creaked when she closed it, and rather than checking out the rest of the house, which lay unused, she went directly for the stairs up to her room. Each step squeaked in surprise, and she almost laughed aloud at the insanity of the situation. She had her own house, at 20 years old. Several times, she had entertained the idea of inviting her parents to move in, but each time she was reminded that though it was her house, her neighbourhood was worse than the back alleys of Zaun, in terms of friendliness. In fact, she was somewhat surprised nobody had burned down her house yet.

Valor settled on her shoulder, after apparently flying through all the rooms and raising its dust. Quinn sneezed as he brought a wingful of dust to her.

He cawed.

"It's that time of year, already?" she said quietly, her voice not making it any farther than Valor's ears.

Valor nodded.

"How long?"

Six days, he indicated with his claws. Valor would leave for six days. He was a Demacian eagle – the amount of time they spent together was astonishingly large, but he sometimes left, for one reason or another. Throughout the years, Quinn gradually found a pattern and had become accustomed to it. Surprisingly, she never felt lonely when he left her to wander the forest unaccompanied. She had often wondered where he always went, and once asked him if he had left for mating season, only to be shutdown with a harsh peck to the skull.

Quinn fished the military's payment out of her pocket and went to a nearby window, opening it fully.

"You heading out south?" she asked him, holding the money up.

He gently took the envelop as he lifted off her shoulder.

"Alright. I'm definitely not staying in the city long, so I'll be somewhere in the forest east of here when you get back."

Valor would find her, no problem.

He cawed again, this time in goodbye.

"Goodbye," she half yelled as she watched him leave through the window and quickly ascend into the dark sky above.

* * *

The smallest, least significant things could cause death. Or, in this case, preserve life.

Quinn heard it moments before she was going to roll over under the sheets of her bed. A creak of wood. Her house was talking to someone, and it definitely wasn't her or Valor. Her heart skipped a beat, but she maintained normal breathing, as though she were asleep. It was a little past midnight, she estimated, but she had never actually fallen asleep despite being tired. She had her mattress to blame for that.

Her new crossbow was resting against the wall on the other side of the room – not a practical strategy to retrieve it, in the face of an enemy. One of her daggers was nearby, within arms reach, but until she knew her enemy's position, it was too dangerous to move for. She listened, but there were no more creaks. It took a full minute of suspense and focusing on remaining calm before she could hear anything. A single, muffled footstep. The intruder most likely wore socks, which explained why the steps were so quiet.

And then there was an eruption of footsteps, and Quinn rolled aside instinctively. The dagger came down where her chest had been a moment before, and Quinn reached, grabbing the arm that was holding it. For a few frantic seconds, her blankets were more of a threat than the assassin. Her feet were kicking, desperately trying to shake the blanket off without losing the fight for the knife.

Digging her fingernails into the man's arms, her feet finally found the hard ground, and by then she had leverage on the knife. Without thinking, she redirected it into her opponent's chest with as much force as she could muster. They fell to the ground and he swore, struggling to pull it out, but instead only succeeded in cutting the blade down his chest when Quinn pushed back. Quinn positioned herself on top of him as he kicked his feet in wild desperation. Though it felt like an entire night of slowly bleeding the man out, his struggles eventually weakened and then died altogether. Quinn rolled off the body, heaving up what had been a pleasant dinner she'd had earlier in the day.

A moment later, she forced herself to return to the assassin. He was an amateur. His nerves had worn off and he didn't go for a clean slice of the throat, but rather a mad frontal attack. Someone had underestimated her.

Quinn searched the body, running hands along the jacket and pants in search of other weapons. Beyond the dagger, which she threw to the other side of the room, he had nothing. Her hands were wet from the search, and she could smell urine. His bladder had let go some time during the struggle. When she turned on the light, her hands revealed blood. Not much better, having hands stained with the blood of an enemy. She looked at the body and then just as quickly diverted her eyes before she could throw up again. He wasn't as young as she might have expected, and she didn't understand how a middle aged man could get into the killing business without being more skilled.

Blood from the body pooled, some going under her bed and the rest finding grains of the wooden floor to seep in to. Light switch covered in blood, and blood droplets around the room from the dagger made Quinn shake her head. Only after a moment did she realize she couldn't just stand there all night, mind numb. Balling her hands, she could feel the blood swell out of her fists. Recalling the strength she used to pin the assassin down, she punched the wall next to the light switch. The resulting thud was much quieter than she wanted, and pain erupted in her hand. If she broke a finger or two, she didn't mind. That was little, in return for a life.

Quinn swore into the silence. It, alone, had been louder than their entire struggle. She went to the body and kicked it. It rolled over, revealing the wet boards of wood underneath. She wished it had been Noxian. It would have been fine, then. She turned her attention away, pacing the room several times. Her feet brought her to her crossbow, which her hands then retrieved, shaking only slightly. Next, she strapped her recently refilled quiver to her back, and then her belt, dagger fastened tightly to it. Quinn turned to survey the room.

"I'm sorry, Caleb. I tried. I'm done now," she whispered, eyes locked on the assassin's knife laying abandoned on the floor. For the past year, Quinn had experienced – maybe not enjoyed, but at the very least experienced – the life they dreamt of. Would it sadden her brother to know it wasn't everything they imagined it to be? Quinn wiped a tear from her cheek, only realizing too late that she'd just painted a streak of blood onto her face. It was time to move on.

Decision made, she went through her house, opened the front door, and then returned to her room. It took her a moment to get the right leverage, but she picked the corpse up and heaved it over her shoulder. Blood was still dripping from the body, and it helped fuel her anger. She left her room, carefully navigating down the stairs with the weight on her shoulder, and then exited her house. The gravel underfoot was the only sound on the street as she started a brisk pace down the road.

There was one place, and one place only, that she had in mind. The stars told her it was already four in the morning. Where had all the time went? Thankfully, she encountered no soldiers in the street. During her walk, she passed one person – a noble woman, by the looks of it – who screamed and ran to the nearest house, desperately knocking on the door for entry. Quinn ignored the woman. There was no stopping now – she was almost there. Already, she had adjusted to the body's additional weight on her shoulder. Much heavier than Valor, but Quinn didn't care.

Her destination was surrounded by barbed wire, but there were no soldiers standing guard. It might have been too early in the morning. The building itself was small and circular, made using large stone bricks that were resistant to weaker magics. It didn't serve much purpose beyond meetings and equipment storage, otherwise the military would have embellished it a little more. The king gave them all the funds they could ever need, so there would be no excuse to lose to Noxus. Above the open arced entrance, 'Dauntless' was written in flowing Demacian letters. It was a disgusting boast, that the members of the vanguard should have been ashamed of. A complete lie, Quinn thought as she barged into the building without thinking.

No, she hadn't been thinking, but thankfully and surprisingly – or perhaps not surprisingly – the very man she wanted to see was there. Garen Crownguard, leader of the Dauntless vanguard, looked up from the table. Even without armour, he looked well built. Physical strength, however, didn't preclude mental strength. He was half asleep, facing an array of papers on the table. Garen wasn't alone. A small handful of soldiers were there too, whispering and pointing to different papers, as if they were lawyers rather than warriors.

Quinn tossed the body as far as she could into the entryway, which amounted to hardly a meter. A satisfying thud echoed through the room, and Garen rose to his feet only to stare at her.

"Garen," Quinn said, not thinking of her words, but rather desperately hoping he would reach for his blade. Though she was outnumbered, taking him down would be enough. Dauntless was a word he did not deserve to be associated with, and if she was the only one who saw the truth, then she would have to be the one to act. "You underestimated me. You'll have to do better than this to off me."

"Officer Attridge? What-"

But he did not reach for his blade. His companions didn't, either, content to look to him for lead. And when Quinn realized he was going to play stupid, the exhaustion hit her. If he wasn't going to give her a fight, then that was that. His honor, however damaged it might be, wasn't enough. Quinn was done.

"You're a coward," Quinn said. "Pitiful."

And she turned and left.

Her ears were her focus, as she listened for sounds of someone following her. She kept a quick stride, not a walk suited for either the city or the forest, but not quite a run. Her feet were moving, but she didn't yet know her next destination. She stumbled to the ground, cutting her knee on a sharp rock in the gravel path, and as she picked herself up, she realized she had never changed her clothing, and was still in her nightgown which she only wore whenever she slept at her house. She must have been quite a sight, covered in blood and weapons in her pajamas.

Home, then, was her immediate destination. She would change and then leave the city. She didn't need to fight for Demacia. She could head for Ionia. She could lend her support to a beautiful kingdom that had suffered at the hands of Noxians. And if, by chance, someone should want to harm Ionia, she could fight for them. Not because she was duty-bound, because she wouldn't be, not ever again, but because she wanted to.

The next time Quinn examined her surroundings, she was heading towards the city's eastern exit, fully changed into her hunting attire and backpack on her back, along with her daggers and crossbow. The weight was much more comfortable than that of a corpse, for which she was thankful. A return to her normal life was what she needed. She also needed a bath. Blood had dripped from the assassin's corpse and down her chest and legs, leaving her painted red like a barbarian getting ready for war.

_Hmm. It appears I'm dining with a barbarian._ Luxanna was a Crownguard. Quinn might have forgotten for a day, but she wouldn't again.

Approaching the gate, she found her crossbow suddenly in hand. It hurt, she thought to herself. She needed a weapon, in case the gate's guards had heard about her actions and a court-martial was already out for her, but even holding the crossbow hurt. She regretted taking her anger out on the wall earlier, but nothing would keep her from the forest.

"Quinn." Prince Jarvan the Fourth stood under the gate's arc, blocking her path to the forest.

She swore under her breath. The pity was palpable.

"Quinn," he said again. "I don't fully understand what has happened, but I do not believe Garen wants to harm you."

"No, you wouldn't," Quinn said, quiet enough that she wasn't sure if the prince heard.

She looked around, for his bodyguards and personal soldiers. They might have been hiding in the gatehouse, or nearby houses, but she couldn't see any.

"Are you leaving?" he asked.

Quinn shifted her backpack. "What does it look like?"

"Already? Lux seems to have had you occupied last night. Did she tell you of my offer?"

"Offer?" Quinn said, momentarily forgetting her situation.

Jarvan IV shook his head. "Never mind. It's not something you'd now entertain, giving what has happened. Look, Quinn, I don't want you to leave – especially not like this."

Quinn lowered a hand casually from her crossbow, bringing it closer to her dagger. Prince Jarvan was an advanced fighter, not one to be hampered by a hunting crossbow. She also took the opportunity to wipe as much blood as she could off her hand, so her grip would be more reliable.

"Quinn," Jarvan said. "Quinn – listen. I'm not going to stop you, if you decide to leave. I know you've already spent a long time in the city, being in the hospital and all, but I want you to stay another day. I would like to talk to you, about the Paz incident, and about this assassination attempt, and – and about something else."

"If you're not going to stop me, then step aside. Let me go."

He kept quiet for a moment, and Quinn checked behind her. It was a dark, empty street. Still early in the morning, the sun hadn't quite risen.

"It wasn't my choice," Jarvan said, "but there's already another mission lined up for you. If you leave – well, dereliction of duty is a serious offence. Together with your business with Garen, leaving will only make things worse."

"I wouldn't worry about that, if I were you," Quinn said.

He stared at her a moment, but Quinn refused to meet his eyes. Slowly, clearly reluctant, Jarvan moved towards the gatehouse, leaving her path open.

"Where are you going to go?" he said as Quinn walked out the gates.

She tensed, hands still close to her weapons. "East. I'm going to look for the battalion that escaped me earlier."

It was a lie.

"Stay in contact, please," Jarvan said, looking up at the clouds above.

Quinn nodded, before turning to the forest.

That was another lie.

Prince Jarvan didn't lie to her, though. He didn't try to stop her as she left the city.


	4. Tracking

Several days passed where Quinn was plagued by indecision. Her actions, during the last night in the city, had been a little unreasonable. In her anger, she didn't think things through, and now she was alone, directionless and likely a wanted criminal. More than once, she thought back to her dinner with Luxanna, when the city hadn't seem like such an unpleasant place. But those thoughts were always disrupted when she remembered Luxanna was a Crownguard, and her brother was Garen. Quinn still believed he had a part to play in the failed assassination, but she couldn't quite frame how. Would he really have hired someone so inept, when a magic user – say, Luxanna – could have done the job instantly and from a safe distance? Something must have went wrong, and communications failed somewhere in their plan. Quinn was lucky, and she wouldn't forget it. Life could perish in an instant, and she didn't have any magic to give her second chances.

Moving east the past few days, her path had gradually curved north since earlier in the morning. If she did decide to catch a boat to Ionia, she was heading in the right direction. A few more weeks of travel and she would be at Piltover. Valor would be rejoining her in a couple days too, so she wanted to have a proper destination by then.

* * *

The forest was a place where Quinn had never been outdone. She lived and breathed with the trees, and her feet ghosted easily over the forest floor. Animals only noticed her and darted away when she'd already passed by them, and Valor flew above the trees, covering any danger from above. There was no enemy to fear, and tonight, they were on the hunt. A small contingent of soldiers had moved through the area. Heavy footsteps were left behind, grass flattened, and larger branches snapped carelessly – a sign they wore armor. She was somewhere north of the marshlands and probably a few days of travel from the Ironspike Mountains, which had been her destination before the soldiers so rudely distracted her. The signs all pointed to Noxians, but Valor didn't back her up on her hypothesis, and instead elected to remain silent. It instilled a sense of trepidation in Quinn, that Valor wasn't sure, but it made the hunt all the more exciting.

* * *

In two days, she had passed three campsites. None had fires, but flattened grass and rocks kicked aside indicated tents had been erected and then taken down. Most soldiers would sleep outside, rather than be granted the luxury of a tent, so there might have been royalty, or an unusually high ranking officer, in their midst. The campsites also gave her an estimate of their travel speed. She was moving much faster than them and was bound to catch up soon. Still, Valor remained quiet.

* * *

There was magic about. Heavy, roiling, dangerous. Enough so that Quinn almost backed off. It was nighttime. Despite the darkness, Quinn had a good sense of the terrain around her. There was no sign of a fire, but her targets were close by. They had chosen to stop at a hill, sparse of trees and easily defendable. Quinn, for her part, was moving forward in a low crouch, trying to get as close as possible. Her intentions hadn't been to get involved with magic, but it grew stronger with each and every step.

She felt respect for her unknown enemy. Magic users among them or not, they were dangerous. They were cautious enough to not light a fire, despite being many kilometers away from the nearest city, and their choice of campsite was strategically perfect.

Quinn stopped at a tree in her path, feeling a sudden urge to run, to escape and forget these mysterious travellers. She also felt anger, at the cowardice she couldn't ignore. A three day hunt wasn't supposed to end in failure – if she could just get eyes on the soldiers, the job was as good as done. Valor was somewhere in the night sky, trying to surreptitiously collect information.

Quinn could hear movement. People moving towards her, from behind. She turned, aiming her crossbow into the darkness. Despite her eyes being well adjusted to nighttime hunting, she still saw nothing. Maybe a squirrel passing by? She heard no owls and didn't think there were any in the area.

"Please don't move," an authoritative voice called out, causing her to drop lower to the ground. "We know you're there."

It was a female. An enchantress? Quinn couldn't fight magic users.

"Put your bow down."

Bow - not crossbow. Quinn made a split second decision. Pinpointing the voice, she fired a bolt. It was too dark to see any disturbance in the air, but a cloaked woman appeared in her arrow's path, stumbling aside, only for Quinn's bolt to rip through her raiment. Not wanting to stay any longer than necessary, Quinn dashed away, moving perpendicular to where she thought all her enemies were.

A whistle to her left shrieked, from atop the hill, and she fixed her course to keep away from it. Her enemies were skilled. Reckless too, she realized a moment later as a flame shot past her. Quinn stumbled, hesitating, not at the heat or proximity of the attack, but because it erupted into a small fire, quickly burning bushes at the base of a tree. Did they really want her so badly they were willing to burn down an entire forest?

It didn't matter; they weren't going to catch her by fighting in her environment.

And then, not two meters in front of her, it happened again. Invisibility dispelled, a mage appeared in her path. It was too late to stop, and Quinn brought her shoulder forward, intending to barrel through and continue. The mage, however, revealed a weapon at the last moment, and though Quinn went for her dagger, she was a step behind her enemy. Even before everything went dark, Quinn realized there was nothing she could do.

Magic was simply impossible and unfair.

* * *

Every kingdom, every faction, every person operated differently. How their soldiers were treated, how innocent civilians were handled, and what they did to prisoners of war, it made everything so obvious. That was why, when Quinn awoke with an aching head and feet and hands completely immobile and bound, she couldn't understand her situation. Noxians killed, and when they didn't, they dismembered. They cut and tore and sawed off body parts so their prisoners couldn't escape or show defiance.

At Quinn's feet, there was nothing but dirt. She kept her breathing steady, rather than letting a sigh of relief escaped her lips.

"She's awake," a dispassionate voice said.

Quinn brought her head up to see someone – a woman, one of the magic users, most likely – before dropping down again when the pain in her neck became too unbearable. Instead, she listened. There were sounds of a campfire being started – had they waited to capture her before they cooked their dinner? Footsteps and gear being shifted around indicated a small contingent, as she had suspected. It took her a few minutes, but she estimated around eighteen soldiers, including the mages and whoever led the mysterious group.

They took her shoes, Quinn noted. She was tied to the center post of a tent, kept standing by the rope rather than her own two legs. The Noxian-styled military tent had been erected quickly, its rectangular shape covering a large area of dirt. They were probably on the top of the hill she'd been approaching earlier.

Quinn had been deprived of her two daggers, her quiver, and of course, her crossbow. They hadn't striped her naked, but she didn't want to dwell on the implications of their kindness. She wiggled her toes in the cold dirt, the refreshing feeling keeping her alert, like stepping into a cold stream of water.

Someone approached, and Quinn didn't bother looking up.

"I know you," it said.

Quinn's head snapped up, momentarily forgetting the pain. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she blinked repeatedly as she stared at the man before her. When her eyes didn't tell her it was a lie, she turned to her other senses. There was magic in the air, and she was already aware of the high-level invisibility they could perform, but the man before her was untouched. He was clean. He was not an illusion, nor under any other magic. Not even a defensive shield – not that Quinn could move in the least, to harm him.

His words bothered her, but his existence did even more.

Before her stood a man who disappeared from the face of Runeterra thirteen months ago. Dead, the optimistic proclaimed. No one came forth with news regarding his whereabouts. Without a body, those who had been around him – by family ties or by the fake bond formed from Noxus loyalty – could never shake the feeling of discomfort. A man as great as him, experienced in war beyond even the Lightshield family, wouldn't simply die to an assassin and never be heard of again. Talon was living proof of his invincibility.

What on Runeterra was going on?

Du Couteau smiled. "And I suspect you know me."

Father of Cassiopeia and Katarina Du Couteau, both champions of the League, his disappearance had been inexplicable and had thrown Noxus into turmoil, as the strongest fought for the newly vacant position at the top of the military. And here he was, camping in the northern forests, just south of the icy wasteland that was Freljord.

He knelt down, letting Quinn see him without needing to strain her neck.

"Good," he said. "I shall do you a favor, here, and perhaps, some time in the future, you might see reason to repay me."

Quinn struggled against the bonds that tied her – something she hadn't tried before. "A favor?"

Du Couteau nodded, his confident smile slowly leaving his lips. "You aren't appreciated in Demacia."

Quinn bit her bottom lip. Keeping words to a minimum was the best strategy for staying alive.

"I won't say you would be appreciated in Noxus," Du Couteau continued unperturbed, "or even Zaun. Had you been born in either of those places, your hard work and strength would have seen you rise to the top, a position not unlike mine, but you would never be appreciated. Perhaps you would think you didn't belong, despite having power many people dream of. Unfortunate. Piltover isn't for you either. You're a warrior, not a scientist. Nor Ionia, a land of religion, which I do believe you have forsaken. A pity. You don't belong in any of these places, but I daresay you aren't alone. This world, in its current state, hasn't found balance. Have you ever heard of the Kinkou Order? Yes, I know you have."

He looked away for a moment, before rising to his feet. She could hear his feet on the dirt floor as he began to circle her, like a vulture waiting for its prey to falter.

"Ionia was perhaps the only region in Runeterra which was approaching a proper era, one fit to be written about proudly in history. And then Noxus came along," Du Couteau said, and Quinn could detect a note of remorse in his voice. "Noxus destroyed its people and lands, setting it all back centuries. The Order shattered under the feet of its enemies during this chaos, and Ionia weakened."

Behind her, his feet stopped. She could hear him lean in, and then feel his hot breath on her ear. "I will undo this, but not for Ionia. _For the entire world_."

Quinn remained frozen still as she processed his words. His way of speaking seemed distant from Noxus allegiance, as if he were a faction-less god, seeking to fix the cracks and tears in the world. Du Couteau's pacing resumed, a fraction slower than before. He didn't, however, continue to speak. A few minutes passed, and Quinn couldn't come to any greater understanding as to her position.

Finally, someone strode into the tent, pushing aside its covers with an air of importance.

"Sir, the bird had been subdued and the dead buried. We'll be ready to move out within the hour."

Without any further words, the man left again. Du Couteau stepped back into vision, his gaze lingering momentarily on the tent's entrance.

"I have abandoned Noxus. It has a bloody and violent history, and there are no indications it will change. Destruction is the only end possible for Noxus. Rather, you may think of me as the forerunner of a new world. But right now, I know what you're thinking. Self preservation is a great and powerful thing. You can't care about the world while you're caught and your safety is in jeopardy, so let me allay some of your fears. No, I will not kill you. No, I will not kill your pet. You will walk away from here uninjured, both in mind and body."

Again, Quinn searched for magic. None. Even the mage who had been in the tent earlier was gone, having slipped out some time during Du Couteau's speech.

"I trust," he said, "that in return, you will tell no one of this meeting. I will trust you to keep quiet on this, and we shall part ways today in a copacetic manner. But this won't be the last time you see me... no. I will reveal myself to you another day, and on that day, I will step out of the shadows. I will speak to all Runeterra's citizens, and I will challenge them. If we, humanity, want to continue surviving, we will require unity. So I will speak to the world, and I will ask all those who want to fight - who want to survive - I will ask of them to step forward, and join me under a new flag. A new faction of the world. One that will not dwindle and die out, that will not be destroyed by greed of Ascension, nor disregard for magic. One that will not use magic for games and politics, but rather for _life_ and the advancement of humanity. Our people will all equally benefit by magic, rather than the selfish, destructive tendencies of summoners. Noxus is strong, too strong. Noxians are blind, in every other aspect of life. Demacia is unyielding in its need for the structure of life. Demacians cannot change, nor adapt. Ionia is too weak, Zaun too uncultured, and Piltover too strict. When the time comes to ask the world to join me, I will be looking to a select few to see their reactions. The worthy ones. You are among them. I will be looking to you. And I hope you will respond favorably."

* * *

Quinn rolled over. Her back was no more comfortable than before, now resting on a tree root sticking out of the ground. With a little reluctance, Quinn sat up, covering her eyes from the sun and squinting. The first thing she saw was Valor, perched on a tree above her. Their eyes met for a moment, before he continued to survey their surroundings. Valor was giving her time to wake. It was much needed time.

_Du Couteau._

Quinn looked around, but no one was in sight. She felt for magic, but there was only the remnants of the previous night's ambush – whether that had been one or two days ago, she didn't know. The ground indicated she hadn't dreamt it – it had really happened. Crawling around on the ground for a minute, she even found the hole from the wooden post that she had been bounded to. Whatever the case, Du Couteau had kept to half of his promise. She hadn't been physically injured. Sore, but not a cut on her body.

She also noticed she was now wearing shoes. The thought of one of Du Couteau's soldiers putting her shoes back on was creepy, and she collapsed back onto the ground, crushed by a jumble of thoughts.

Phrases resounded in her head. _Worthy ones_. What did he mean by it? There was too much too analyze, but she didn't want to get ahead of herself. Magic was a powerful weapon, not just for killing, but for manipulating. The mind was weak. While she couldn't sense any dark magics on herself, Quinn wasn't an impartial judge. Someone who could look her over and say she was fine was now the most important thing to her. Then, she could figure out just what exactly Du Couteau had been talking about.

It angered her.

It ruined everything. She had been looking forward to exploring the Ironspike Mountain's rumored northern pass on her way to Piltover. Fire, invisibility, dark magic, it didn't belong in her life.

The sun indicated midday. Quinn stood up, looking around the hilltop.

"Valor," she called, letting her comrade hear how defeated she was. "A little help? We need to head to the closest large city. Actually, no, scratch that. Demacia won't be welcoming, and despite our pleasant visit with Du Couteau, Noxus won't ever be. Senta is nearby, isn't it?"

She crinkled her nose at the thought of visiting Senta, but for efficiency's sake, there wasn't much choice. It was probably the closest city anyways. Valor came down from his tree and perched on her shoulder a minute.

"I'm fine," Quinn said, the words heavier than she might have wanted.

And then Valor took off, leading the way south, towards Runeterra's largest city, and home to the League of Legends.


	5. The Unwilling Passengers

Quinn had a strong constitution. She could punch walls and jump off low cliffs, and she was confident enough to eat the meats and plants found in the forests around her. It was something she took for granted, and then it brick-walled her at the most unexpected of times. After drinking water from the marshland, Quinn had fallen gravely ill. Her four day trek to Senta turned into a nightmare. A tornado tore through the marsh – coming from the south and hellbent on God knew where – and she huddled under a rock as tree branches rained on her and rain rained on her, and with her head swimming she puked out the scarce meal she had eaten earlier that day.

The tornado left, but the illness was persistent and she still couldn't keep food down. It had been several days since she'd eaten, and huddled under the rock, Quinn knew she was getting weaker by the hour. There was no wildlife left in the vicinity for Valor to hunt. Marshes didn't have many animals in them, and that was before the tornado came through to fly away all the birds and marsupials Valor would find them. And then, before she could recover from her illness, _they_ came.

It wasn't some local phenomenon. No matter where one lived on Runeterra, tornadoes were something to be feared. Tornadoes killed the weak and striped the defences of the strong, and in their wake, without fail, packs congregated. Quinn had never seen them before; most speculated that they come from underground, like ghosts rising up from their long forgotten coffins after being woken from the noise above. Part ephemeral, part solid manifestation, they were Frankensteins' monsters – not belonging to the world.

The first one, leader of the pack, entered into her sight.

It stood on two shaggy legs, twice the height of the tallest men. Its chest was bare, and a cavity revealed an empty crevasse where its heart should have been, the flesh folded away as if it imploded. Blood still dripped from the fetid skin, despite the body being long dead. Its hands were skeletal, the flesh long ago worn and ripped away, bony fingers visible and holding a rusted spear. Behind it, its companions held a myriad of other weapons, each in their own state of disrepair, having killed many men and survived countless skirmishes. The worst part of it all – the head. Quinn could have handled a clean, white skull, but their heads had _survived_. Likely protected by whatever magical capabilities the monsters had, their heads were those of young men. The whites of their eyes were visible as they scanned the broken lands, and the only disfigurement Quinn could see were the threads that tightly clasped their chapped and bleeding lips together. If not for the threads bounding their mouths shut, the marshland would have been guest to the chorus of screams from the Passengers.

Quinn couldn't move – both from sickness and from fear. Valor was close beside her, keeping her company underneath the rock which had become her home for the past few days. They watched as the Passengers approached, and Quinn kept a tight grip on her crossbow. When the inevitable finally happened and she was spotted, Quinn could do nothing but shiver. The Passenger in lead picked up speed, its body in contrast with the terror in its eyes.

He wished for death, yet Quinn couldn't act. Valor did, instead. Without hesitation, Valor dived the enemy. When its eyes were torn out of its sockets, it didn't scream. There was just the stretching and snapping of cartilage. If she had been in the right frame of mind, she might have wished Valor didn't target the poor man, yet at the same time there was no other part to attack. The legs were thick and hairy like a work horse, and it would take several bolts to send the Passenger stumbling, and the heart wasn't there in the first place – it certainly wasn't what kept the Passenger alive.

As it turned out, they did not need eyes to fight. They swarmed, their approach slowed by the muddy bog, and all she could do was watch as Valor tried his best to stop them, to delay them in the slightest. With magic on her side, the fight would have been over in a second.

A sword clipped Valor's wing, and he cried out before redoubling his efforts to stop the wave of enemies approaching. Quinn watched silently.

With magic, she could end the fight without so much as standing up.

_One whose people will all benefit by magic, equally, and whose people won't die so easily._

If Du Couteau's words were honest, then what he was chasing was a good thing, wasn't it?

_Worthy ones._ What exactly had he meant, Quinn wondered? She pulled herself to her feet with the help of a nearby tree branch. Maybe she could survive, to see this new age that he promised? No, there was no reason to believe his words. Not now, at the very least. For now, she would focus on surviving.

Quinn dragged herself up the large rock she'd been sheltered by, scratching her knees in the process. From her new elevation, she surveyed the enemies. Her vision swam and rather than risk losing balance and falling off the rock, she dropped to her knees for a moment. After taking a few deep breaths, she stood back up.

"Valor, to me!" Quinn shouted in her strongest voice possible.

Her companion responded immediately, rejoining her. It was their rock now, and losing it would be their death.

The first Passenger arrived moments later and started climbing, and she spared him no expense.

She may have looked weak, and the Passengers may have been below her, but it made the battle no easier. Her dagger was coated in blood, the stickiness dripping down the blade and between her fingers and the hilt. They weren't smart enemies, but their weapons were sharp and there were enough of them that Quinn couldn't relax. Her vision narrowed and periodically dimmed as she tried to keep upright and fighting. Their tears and undisguised fear sickened her, and Quinn had to keep reminding herself they were too far gone. Not human, anymore.

Valor fought by her side, but she couldn't see him, or risk the time to check on him. She had the good fortune of fighting from elevation, but while the corpses of those she dispatched fell backwards, stalling the others, they had gradually surrounded the rock, and each time she had to spin around to fend off an attack from behind, the world kept spinning, and she would stumble, blindly swinging her dagger at where she thought the enemy would be, while focusing her vision at the bloodied rock beneath her.

At some point during the battle, she had lost her crossbow, shrugged it off intentionally when she realized it wouldn't help in the battle. Her aim was horrendous and any bolts she fired off would most likely miss. It helped lighten her movements, but they were already too sluggish.

The spike of a halberd caught her stomach, and she kicked the offending Passenger away before taking a moment to cough and recuperate. She didn't have a moment, however, and she could feel a blade cut through her thigh. With her remaining good leg, she spun around. It might have been the end, Quinn thought, but what an end it was. With a brazen shout, she embedded her dagger into the Passenger's neck. Like the others she killed, it looked up at her, showing emotion only a human should.

Quinn and Valor communicated through a myriad of methods, but the quickest one was simple eye contact. Sometimes, Quinn could look at Valor and know exactly what the bird was thinking. The Passenger who cut her legs wasn't crying in its last moments, nor was it terrified. Rather, its eyes conveyed something unexpected. Who had they belonged to, what had those eyes seen, she didn't know. But what she saw - understanding, gratitude, encouragement - she wouldn't forget for the rest of her life.

The body toppled over, falling into the bloody mass of corpses. Without allowing herself to hesitate, Quinn continued the fight. Only one leg was uninjured, and she kept on her knees, making more aggressive attacks whenever the opportunity presented itself, while wishing she had a longer weapon. Focusing entirely on the battle, her eyes had glossed over the halberds, scimitars, rapiers, maces, and countless other weapons abandoned and ownerless on the stone beside her.

When the piles of bodies threatened to grow taller than the peak of the crag she stood on, Quinn's luck ran out. A projectile arced cleanly through the sky, and though she saw it at the last moment, there was nothing she could do. It hit her chest, denting her armour and sending her off balance. Another followed shortly after, and as if the Passengers' second battalion consisted exclusively of archers, the marshland's empty skies were replaced with a rain of wood and metal.

Quinn's actions slowed to a stop. Valor cried out, and she recognized the cry. It was one she'd heard only twice before. _Reinforcements. Help is on the way._

A faint grin crossed her lips. Too late, she thought. Just a little too late. There was no stopping the arrows descending on her head now.

At that moment, the tornado returned. Quinn could only watch as the inexplicable happened. With a fury unlike any she'd other seen before from nature, winds shot through the area, blasting the marsh ruthlessly as the sky darkened and clouds flew in, as though the heavens had been put on fast-forward. Quinn and Valor were cut off from the earth, caught in a bubble of translucent material.

It encircled her and dimmed her vision of the outer world, distorting the sounds as though she were listening through a thin layer of water. Quinn remained, collapsed on the ground where she was, as the rest of the world was caught by the blast of wind, and lifted off. Corpses and weapons were torn from the ground and hurtled through the sky, disappearing from Quinn's view and into the distant fog to the north. The arrows that had been threatening her moments ago were gone, Quinn having not even had the chance to see where they went. The Passengers surrounding the rock, some in mid-climb, weren't spared from the storm's violence. They were taken by the wind, their limbs flailing helplessly in the air as they collided with each other and other objects caught up in the tornado, and the tornado continued past, taking everything outside the magical bubble away.

Fighting a coughing fit, Quinn looked up towards the skies. The cries of the Passengers, Valor, and herself had abruptly come to a stop. During her earlier fight, the skies had been clear, but now one of the strongest storms Quinn had ever seen was brewing. It took a moment for her to realize the fight was over, the tornado was gone, and she was still alive. Everything ended in less than a minute. Quinn stared, bewildered, as the explanation descended from the skies through an opening in the clouds only possible by magic.

Above her, an angel. Floating, the woman surveyed the marshlands before continuing her slow descent.

Quinn clutched her bleeding leg, not noticing even as Valor settled beside her, nursing his own wounds. A few minutes passed before the woman touched her feet to the ground on the same rock as Quinn, mere meters in front of her. Their bubble popped; their shield from the world gone. Colour didn't immediately return to the world, though, and Quinn knew she didn't have long left. Struggling to remain conscious, she stared.

The woman was missing her halo. Her hair, thrice the length of Quinn's, was blonde and flowing, as though a constant stream of wind was gently keeping it afloat. Her skin was pale. She wore white gloves, and a white bikini, revealing more skin that Quinn would have expected from an angel. Was she hallucinating? Atop of her saviour's head rested a tiara made from some unrecognizable cyan crystal. Quinn saw then her staff and felt unexpected bitterness. Of course it had been a mage who had saved her; no one else could possibly be so powerful. Was it also magic that made her saviour so entrancing? Quinn, uncaring of her saviour's opinion, continued to stare at the woman, drinking in the sight of her flawless skin and reassuring visage.

"Brave warrior, what is thine name?" the angel said.

Her voice was airy and accented by a faint echo, leaving Quinn breathless. Valor cawed, but it was too late, and too much. Quinn closed her eyes, succumbing to the darkness.

* * *

When Quinn awoke, only Valor was nearby.

"Well, I sure screwed that one up, didn't I, Valor?" Quinn said, sitting up.

She was lucid. Magic had patched her up; she could feel it within her. Rather than remain sitting for another half hour, to appreciate being alive and all, Quinn jumped to her feet. She was impatient. She had too much energy, a drastic change from earlier.

Blood still coated her and Valor's rock, but there were no corpses nearby. No weapons either. Her dagger and crossbow had been swept away in the attack. She had bought those weapons no more than two weeks ago, back in Demacia. It wasn't setting a good precedent, losing them so quickly. There was, however, the fact that she had fought the Passengers and survived. It was most certainly an unpleasant encounter, but it was also a valuable learning experience. They weren't as strong as the rumours Quinn had heard. If Quinn could handle their vanguard while sick and weakened, then they wouldn't be nearly as threatening as she thought if she were at full power.

Pacing back and forth on the rock, it took her a moment to realize she was no longer sick, and another moment to get over how unfair it was to be able to cure any disabilities with magic in an instant. Quinn tore off her armour, letting it fall disgracefully on the ground below. It had been dented and stained red in the battle. Dented armour was dangerous to use, and its discomfort and weight didn't warrant her packing it into town to be fixed. She had a few coin which would hopefully be enough to purchase new equipment in Senta.

Quinn looked around. There was no smell of death, like she might have expected. She also took a moment to examine herself, before smirking. Magic could do lots, but apparently her saviour decided not to clean her up; she looked as though she'd jumped into a vat of blood and went for a swim.

There was nothing left for Quinn to pack, so she jumped off the rock and began to walk. Behind her, she could hear Valor take to the skies. Only after half a dozen steps did she turn back to stare at the rock. They had mounted a successful defence on the nondescript stone, and she felt as though she'd developed a rapport with it. It had also been her shelter for several days, through illness, starvation, and a tornado. Perhaps she ought to name it.

Next time she passed through the area, Quinn would make sure to visit Passenger's Fate.

With a satisfied nod, she orientated herself towards the south and resumed her trek in bloodied shoes and clothing. Her feet felt light, and she ghosted over the marshland much faster than before, not sinking into the mud as much with every step.

* * *

Quinn redoubled her efforts to reach Senta and find a physician skilled in the arcane – both the common and the sinister. When her path joined the main trade route, her pace quickened, no longer needing to be wary of magical beasts and monsters hiding in the forest. The magic was there, faint traces on the roads and when carts led by horses passed her, but it was also a safety she appreciated because of her lack of weapons and recent sickness strong in mind.

Quinn had never been to Senta before, nor had she ever seen pictures of it, or heard little more than adjectives describing its grandeur. It started with the tallest walls she had ever seen, with crenelations along the top and regular pairs of soldiers patrolling along it. At intervals along the wall, even higher towers were built in, which would give a bird's eye view of a good portion of the city, and of the farmland extending out into the countryside. Behind the wall, columns of dark smoke filled the sky, indicating a large industrial section of the city. Most obvious of all – almost to a nauseating degree – was the magic. It had been gradually growing stronger as she approached, and standing just outside the gate it felt like each breath she took was contaminated. Having never been to Zaun, it was what Quinn might have expected of that city state, but she had never heard bad words about Senta.

Valor didn't seem to mind the atmosphere being chocked full of magic, and neither did anyone else that she could see. It was something she probably could have adapted to, but Quinn had no intentions of being in the city longer than a day. Hearing the 'okay' of a doctor and restocking her supplies was all she wanted. Afterwards, she would try again for Ionia, while keeping an ear out for news on Du Couteau. There were other places that sounded appealing to her too, such as Bilgewater and Kumungu, but Quinn didn't yet dare go south of the Great Barrier. She wasn't yet confident in her abilities to survive less friendly environments – after all, the marshes between Demacia and Noxus were supposed to be comfortable territory, and she nearly fell prey to them.

The gates had long lines of people waiting to be allowed into the city. She quickly discovered there were two lines, one for individuals and others for carts of material. Thankfully, the line for lone travellers moved quickly and she was at the gate's entrance in minutes.

"Reason for entrance?" the guard droned, before bringing his hand up and yawning.

Quinn hesitated. "Buying... stuff? I lost my weapon."

The guard straightened up, giving her a quick appraisal. "You look like the tornado and Passengers had their way with you."

"They passed near here?"

"Sure did. Had the city in an uproar, even with the League here on full alert." He narrowed his eyes. "Does that mean you actually ran into the Passengers?"

Quinn nodded, and the guard let out a low whistle before stepping aside. "You're damn lucky to be alive. Welcome to Senta."

The city didn't have a northern gate. Quinn had entered directly into the residential district from the western gate, and was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the place. Every main street was paved with stone, and there were children playing in large fields of grass in front of houses – something which most properties in the Demacian capital didn't have – and the streets were filled with the clopping of horseshoes as a wide variety of carts moved about. Quinn took a moment to try and shield herself from the uncontrolled magic which wafted through the city's streets. Open stares from nearly everyone who passed her reminded her that while she was fit for the forest, her clothing had accumulated too much sweat, blood, and mud to stand around in crowded public areas. Without a weapon on hand, Quinn had never risked stopping in the marshlands to clean herself off.

She felt in her pockets, retrieving a couple Demacian notes. Demacian currency was accepted everywhere except Noxus. Even most Zaunite shops counted it as legal tender. The notes in their current state, however, might prove to be a little more challenging to use. They had been stained with blood – hers or the Passengers', she didn't know – that had seeped through her armour and pants.

After a quick stop by a public bathhouse, where she showered the blood off her body and purchased new garment, Quinn started through the city as quickly as she could, following the more ragged dressed people to eventually find the plebeian market. Her bloody notes proved useless in bartering, and she was forced to use some of the gold coins she had on hand to purchase a new dagger and some old armour which was already showing signs of rust. A new crossbow could wait. She didn't have enough for both the bow and bolts.

Quinn saved the bulk of her coins for a doctor, and after asking around for a short while, she found herself standing outside the door of a building located on a river's bank, just outside the industrial district. It had vines growing up the side and the roof was covered in moss, making it look more fit for a forest than a city. Quinn approached the wooden door.

Her knock was immediately responded to with a welcoming shout, followed by a short, unpleasant coughing fit. Quinn opened the door, peering inside.

Her over-the-top expectation of witch-doctors hadn't failed her in the least. The old man stood over a massive cauldron of boiling, oozing green liquid, stirring it while a faintly purple gas permeated every cubic centimetre of the room around him. Quinn held her breath and took a step inside. The senior continued his work, quietly muttering numbers to himself. When he reached one hundred, preceded, naturally, by seventy one, he let the stir stick fall to its side.

"Welcome, welcome, to my humble abode," he said, with a dramatic sweep of his thin arms. "How can my magic assist you?"

Quinn stepped deeper into his 'abode', making sure to lean away from the endive growing on the wall and garlic hanging from the roof by string. Was he afraid of vampires, or something? Vladimir probably wouldn't even quench his thirst if he drained every drop of blood from the old man's frail body.

"I'm looking for-"

"Purple hair!" the witch-doctor exclaimed, quickly stepping forward. He reached out towards Quinn's hair with surprising agility, and she quickly backstepped. "I must have some!"

Quinn ran a protective hand through her hair. "Excuse me?"

"Hair has deep-seated magical properties that can be exploited with the proper preparations and there's so few people with naturally grown purple hair." He gave her an accusing glare. "It is natural, no?"

"It is," Quinn said, still on her toes.

"My last source, from that terrible, horrible, no good angel, was used up months ago. I must procure some more. Now tell me, how much will it be?"

"I'm not selling my hair," Quinn said, while refraining from asking how much he was willing to pay. "I'm here to know about dark magic – I need to know if I've had any cast on me."

The old man grinned. "Fine, fine. An inspection bath? If you're not willing to part with hair, it will cost you good coin."

He was chintzy too, refusing to barter. When Quinn handed over every last gold coin she had, he started moving about, collecting items.

"How old are you?" he asked as his hands hovered over jars on a shelf in the back.

"Twenty," Quinn said. "I think."

His hand dropped on a jar containing unfamiliar mushrooms. "Bispora it is, then. I think."

As it turned out, the inspection was a literal bath. The witch-doctor generously turned the other way as Quinn stripped and submerged herself in the tub of yellow. It didn't kill her, nor did it cause her skin to shrivel up and disintegrate. Instead, the thick, yellow substance felt surprisingly normal. It was warm, and a little too viscous to compare to water, but Quinn didn't mind. Instead, she was focusing on taking deep breaths to calm her heart. In only a few moments, she would know if Du Couteau had any dark magic cast on her while she was unconscious in the forest.

And then what, Quinn wondered? Head back north through the marsh, for the Ironspike mountains again? It was a possibility, but retracing her steps didn't appeal to her. Maybe she could alter her path a little, and run through Noxian territory and then Zaun, on her way to Piltover.

The water changed colour. In a surprisingly quick process that started from where her skin was in contact with the liquid, it raced outwards towards the edges of the tub, colouring her bath a bright orange. If she wasn't imagining things, it was also slightly warmer than before. The warmth was almost relaxing, but every time she shifted she could feel the resistance from the liquid, which made her skin tingle uncomfortably. The old man approached, scrutinizing his potion.

"Orange, is it?" he said pensively, before leaning in. "And no smell?"

Quinn covered her chest defensively, despite the liquid obscuring everything but her head.

"Well?" she demanded. "What does it mean?"

The man shook his head. "You're clear of the simple hexes and curses, but by the sounds of it, you're afraid of something worse. Something much more dangerous." His last word stretched and faded to silence as he chewed on a blade of grass procured from a nearby table top. "There's something not helping, here. Some magic is interfering. Not dark magic, but it's still a problem. I can't clear you one hundred percent."

Quinn's thoughts immediately went to her saviour, who healed her after the Passengers attacked. It had been several days since then, but the magic had been more than healing. She had felt lighter and quicker for her journey to the city, though it had seemingly worn off shortly before her arrival. There must have still been remnants of it in her body.

"Not one hundred percent?" Quinn said, frustration escaping her lips.

The old man shook his head, looking just as displeased as her. "If they rest on exact opposite positions on the spectrum of identifiable magic stratums, they will destructively interfere with each other and weaken each others' presences. As it is now, it's a very real possibility. All right, up you get. The potion is looking tired and you don't want to stay in there when it quits on you."

Quinn's eyes widened as she watched the liquid. Was it just her imagination, or was it beginning to emit a faint gas? She quickly grabbed a nearby towel and jumped out. Drying herself off, her mind was conflicted. It would be foolish to assume she was safe. What was she to do? Was there an alternative, perhaps some bath that could nullify any magic on her? When she asked the witch-doctor, he shook his head. It wasn't feasible, requiring materials, time, and magic he didn't have. To Quinn's surprise, however, he returned the gold she had paid him.

"My magics failed to satisfy you. I cannot take your coin," he said, before hesitating. "Yet there's still one way for you to learn the answer to your question. It's quick, free, and guaranteed to work."

She turned to face the witch-doctor. His voice had grown stronger, more composed than previously, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

"What do you know about the League of Legends?" he whispered. "Or... more importantly, the flame of Reflection?"


	6. Flame of Reflection

Quinn was ten steps from the top when her feet slowed to a stop. Turning to look down at the city, she held back a gasp. Senta was a city bustling with action, unlike anything she could have imagined. The city sectors were clearly divided by busy roads, the upper and lower residential districts separated by walls actively being patrolled, and a magnificent river ran through the center of the city. It originated from a magical spring – rumored to actually be linked to a dimension of crystal clear water stretching as far as the eyes could see – and flowed outwards, towards Demacia in the west and Noxus in the east. Even from her distance, high above all the working people and mess of buildings, she could tell it was becoming more than the Demacian capital had ever been, and could ever be.

A city under the League's protection seemed to appeal to many people. The population had skyrocketed two years ago, when the League started bringing in more and more champions. She recalled reading a paper stating that when Jarvan IV entered the League, over ten thousand Demacian citizens immigrated to Senta. Built on neutral ground, the city had originally been the village of Summoners. Summoners were humans who could use a powerful class of magic – the strongest of which, able to connect to other dimensions – and were said to be descendants of those who fought in the rune wars. Slowly, the village grew as war developed around it but never touched it. People realized that even Noxus respected the magic users, and despite Senta being located between the two super powers of the world, it was safe. The creation of the League, bringing in heroes from around the world, only enforced this belief. Senta was the world's safe haven, and no matter what happened to the kingdoms, it would always stand.

Having had a chance to catch her breath, she returned to the monumental task of climbing the stairs to the Door of Acceptance. The architect was either a giant or he intentionally made the steps huge, as to whittle away the small and weak. There might also have been a metaphorical interpretation about greatness requiring large steps or something, but Quinn couldn't be bothered to think about it. The League's Yordles must have had a hell of a time getting up to the door. Each additional step she took, she felt the sense of unease growing. Valor had been circling her for the past while, waiting patiently for her to arrive at the top before settling again on her shoulder. Sometimes she wished she had wings.

Three more steps from the top, she could see it.

At the top of the stairs, a plaza. The mysterious and magical Door of Acceptance. She'd seen it in books, but the pictures hadn't captured any of the intense glare the golden door gave off, or the heavy atmosphere of magic trying to invade her personal being and fuse itself with her every fiber. With a restrained shudder, she quickly climbed the remaining steps and stood atop the plateau. The scene before her was even more surprising than the door. Rather than ancient runes and magical beings atop the mountain, the first object she saw was a concession stand. It was selling iced lemonade in the shade created by a striped yellow and red umbrella. People were lined up, some quiet and serious, but most laughing and relaxed, like it was just another day at the amusement park.

The grass was a dark shade of green that Quinn might have expected from some forested valley that saw little sunlight, but where she stood, the sun had access to throughout the day. There were picnic tables and blankets scattered on the grass with people resting on them, eating lunch and drinking their lemonade.

Quinn frowned, rubbing the back of her neck. Did they repurpose the place as a park?

Those within the crowd varied greatly. There were a few who looked as if they had simply crawled out of bed and somehow dragged themselves up the mountain, as though today would be their lucky day and the door would magically open for them. Not that it could open non-magically.

Then there were a handful of people in varying degrees of armor and magical robes. Half of them could have been mercenaries, the other half from the city guard. Quinn couldn't bring herself to look down on the hopeful individuals. After all, if not for the Demacian eagle on her side, she would have looked particularly unremarkable among the throng. Her best light armor had been damaged in her battle against Thresh, her good light armor had been shed following the battle with the Passengers in the marshland, and her newly purchased armor was old, didn't fit well, and was already starting to rust. Her dagger, too, was uncomfortable and she hoped there would be a chance to buy a new one before the next time she ended up fighting.

The atmosphere felt heavy underneath the baking sun. Thousands of people had their dreams crushed here each week. Ironically, most who made it into the League never thought much of it. Almost without exception, they were already heroes or demons or some other special case who would be more surprised if the door had refuted them. It was only further proof as to the impossibility of her making it through the door. Her and Caleb, despite their dreams of knighthood and fame, never would have stood a chance here. It was a disquieting thought. They never stood a chance, yet it had still cost her brother his life.

Could she blame the world at his misfortune, or maybe Demacia? The magic they kept to themselves, as though they were superior beings, could have saved them - could have changed their lives.

Not for the first time, Quinn wondered what part she had to play in her brother's death. A step to the left in the forest, changing their path only minutely, would have made a world of difference. She pushed the thought away just as quickly, with a resolute shake of her head. Too many days had wasted away along that path.

Fifty feet away, the Door stood silent, blocking access to the Institute of War. It was surrounded on both sides by flames that burned a sinister black. The flame to its left was the flame of Observation. The flame on the right, the Flame of Reflection. If both flames glowed green before five minutes elapsed of an individual standing in front of the door, they were in. As simple as that. Though, Quinn had overheard, it was a big event for even a single flame to turn green.

The flame of Observation determined a person's strengths, or capabilities. If the flame believed – not that it was sentient, or so Quinn hoped – that the person was strong enough to join the League, it would burn some shade of green. Otherwise, it would remain black or take on another color, such as red. Nobody wanted to see red; red essentially meant they never stood a chance, and to never return to the Door of Acceptance.

The flame of Reflection wasn't, as was widely believed, a mental test. What made it glow different colors, in truth nobody knew. If it required sanity or the intention not to destroy Runeterra, then those from the Void and Shadow Isles would never have been accepted. There were also people like Vladimir, who openly and honestly said he wanted to drain every ounce of blood out of the summoner who was overseeing the interviews that day. The flame, as far as some rumors went, took into account magical potential and personality, at least to some degree.

The flame of Reflection was the reason Quinn climbed the stairs. The witch-doctor, who had introduced himself as doctor Lezaro before she'd left, told her it was the key to answering her question. If it remained black the entire time, Quinn was guaranteed clean. If at any point during the test, it changed to violet, or any shade of purple, it was indicative of dark magic. All she needed was for the flame to remain black for five minutes, and then she could leave happy.

Beyond the lemonade stand and the flames and the Door, an interview was the only other barrier to becoming a champion of the League. The process itself was a well kept secret, but it was said to eliminate a good number of people who actually made it through the Door. There must also have been some kind of magic to prevent all the failed and bitter interviewees from revealing details of the process.

Again, Quinn turned to give the city another look. Three million citizens, was it? She could even see the smoke from the outer industrial district on the other side of the city. After a minute of fruitlessly searching for the witch-doctor's green roofed house, she turned to the Door. A line of four people were in front of it, with someone else standing in the designated spot to be tested. She was a short kid, couldn't have been more than fifteen years old. Her raiment was stained with dirt and the laces of her shoes missing, but she exuded an aura of well-formed magic. Quite possibly a reject from the institute's Summoner's school.

Silently, Quinn entered the line. Within seconds, Valor landed on her shoulder with a soft thump, making several people around her flinch back in surprise. It also drew the attention of a few of the picnickers. Cross her arms, she began waiting patiently.

Everyone in front of her failed the test, their flames not once changing color, and the twenty five minutes of waiting passed all too soon. Quinn found herself being gently shoved forward by magic. Her eyes quickly searched the area. A female summoner with long black hair and garbed in flowing red robes pointed at the spot in front of the door.

Quinn stepped forward, immediately feeling the Door's energy. As if it were starving, its magic rushed forward and enveloped her. Valor immediately took off from her shoulder, electing to hover several meters above her head. Quinn hated magic. Lots of weak magic users and normal people did, but her more so. It seemed to oppose her at every step in life.

The Door began to examine her and she felt the magic entering inside her. As if she were drinking a thick sludge, it slowly crawled down her throat and settled inside her. She kept her breathing calm and closed her eyes from the shining golden Door. The last words she saw were 'The Truest Opponent Lies Within', embossed in large black letters above the door.

The sounds around her faded; the clinking of glasses of lemonade no longer filled the air, nor the conversations of those around her. She could, however, still feel the gusts of wind coming down on her from above, where Valor hovered. She used it to track the time. Each second, it became more and more difficult to breath. She tried to remember what she had read of the Door in her books. It had never killed anyone, had it? She quickly banished the thought.

Standing suddenly took noticeable effort. Her legs felt tired, and numb at the same time, and she was surprised she didn't simply collapse on the ground like a heap of jelly. The magic didn't hold back in the least as she felt it begin to scratch around at her insides. It was a good idea to have not eaten lunch.

Two minutes, Quinn estimated. Two minutes left.

When the magic started pulling itself out and away from her, the sounds of her environment came back. She heard a loud gasp behind her. Slowly, she forced her eyes open.

More murmurs filled the plaza, and Quinn looked around, expecting a champion or High Councilor or someone to have shown themselves. But the hundreds of eyes were all staring at her. A sense of dread filled her. Without turning around, she knew with certainty that the flame of Reflection had turned a deep, unforgiving violet. She could feel the heat on her back as she started sweating.

General Du Couteau _had_ done something to her. His promise of not harming her had only been a complete lie. She was now a danger to the citizens of Senta, to the world around her. What kind of dark, forbidden magic was it? Would a single, unknown word trigger her to go on a killing spree, murdering her fellow Demacians once she had returned home, or was it something more solemn, reticent thoughts that could cloud her mind when she slept, gradually changing her ideals and turning her into a monster like Vladimir? Or maybe something less conniving, and she was a walking bomb, set to explode and unleash a wave of magic never before seen to this world.

But then came a worse thought, one of self preservation. She was in the most dangerous place on Runeterra, not for her ability to harm others, but for her to keep her freedom. A single word from the female summoner overseeing her, and they would start teleporting in. In seconds, she would be subdued and then thrown in a dark underground prison to spend the rest of her life without ever seeing another friendly face again. If there was one thing in this world she loved, it was her freedom. Her freedom to go anywhere and do anything, no matter what others said or thought. They couldn't take it away from her. They wouldn't.

She spun around, a cry for action to Valor on her lips. It died on her tongue. The flame of Reflection was a pure black, unchanged from when she had first approached the Door. Instead, on the left, a sight she had never expected revealed itself. The flame of Observation burned an iridescent green, more vivid than any natural shade she ever had seen in the forest. A welcoming and warming green. A green of acceptance. A green for fighters, heroes who fought toe to toe against demons and the world's most terrifying monsters.

Her mouth hung open in pure bewilderment.

The magic no longer assaulting her, Valor settled onto her right shoulder, cawing gently.

But no, she wanted to say. _No_. She didn't have the power to match the champions of the League, no matter what a magical flame said. The ascended beings, Xerath, Renekton, Nasus, could have sliced her open in a second. Xerath's raw energy could have passed through her, obliterating her body without being delayed for even a nanosecond. Even Garen, for whom she and Valor despised, was leagues above her. The Might of Demacia would openly laugh if he saw the scene that was developing outside the Door. He had held his own against the most elite Noxian squad, only to duel their most powerful soldier, Katarina, afterwards. Quinn couldn't even imagine herself in a battle against such a monstrosity.

Then she had the fleeting thought that she had been poisoned by magic so forbidden, so dangerous, that it could fool the flames. Her eyes quickly jumped to the female summoner. Quinn examined the woman closely, to see if she had noticed any anomaly. She – Quinn's eyes opened even wider. She was Vessaria, one of the High Summoners. Someone of immense magical power and even more impressive control over the power. A person to be feared. And she was watching a small hourglass which she held in hand. From Quinn's distance, she couldn't see how full the lower half was.

When Vessaria looked up, Quinn met her eyes for a fraction of a second before quickly glancing away. There were a grand total of three Summoners in the world who could read minds without the permission or knowledge of the target. All they needed was eye contact. Of those three, two were living in Senta. Vessaria was, if Quinn remembered correctly, most definitely one of those two dangerous individuals.

The flames beside the Door were small, but it didn't reduce the heat they exuded. Valor must have had immense strength to willingly stay by her side. Quinn wanted to step back, to throw herself off the plaza to be cooled by the air as she fell towards the city below.

The high Summoner impatiently tapped her hourglass, as if a grain had gotten stuck and froze time. Quinn's gaze gradually returned to rest on the flame of Reflection. Nothing else mattered.

Violet or black. A life of imprisonment or a life of freedom.

How much time remained before she was cleared of the possibility of dark magic? A minute? Thirty seconds? She was lucky to have made it this far, only a little longer and her doubts would be cleared. Her stare turned into a glare, mentally threatening the fire to not change color.

The voices behind her had quieted down. They, too, watched the flame, albeit for a different reason. The fools hoped to see the – the... Quinn didn't know how many champions were in the League. She knew there were at least one hundred, but it had been so long since she'd spent time in a city catching up on the League's happenings. She hadn't ever thought it important. Nonetheless, the people hoped to see a new champion in the making. If Quinn had been a little more brash, she might have laughed aloud. The flame of Observance may have been slacking today, but it was impossible the flame of Reflection would allow someone in who had _no_ intention of actually joining the League.

Instead, as the seconds passed, she realized the excitement was over. The concern gathering from the past week that she had been cursed dissipated all at once. At least four minutes had passed, plenty of time to find and recognize dark magic. So, Quinn moved her thoughts along. She could finally analyze the conversation she had with General Du Couteau without fear of being biased.

His ideology was appealing, but he meant it to be. He knew who she was. He knew she didn't get along with the Demacian elite. He knew she was an easy target to sway over to his side. That was the most plausible reason as to why she was alive and breathing, being melted by the green flames in front of her. There was no possible way to tell if he was telling the truth, no reason to believe a word he said. It sounded realistic. The League would fall eventually, from one of its many enemies, or simply from time itself. Then what? Demacia, Ionia, Noxus, the city states. It would descend into a chaos worthy of the back alleys of Zaun. Entire cities would be bombed, scorched, removed from the very earth during the war. Corpses everywhere, the dead and dying pleading for help. She would be caught in it, without trustworthy allies and friends.

It could be avoided if she responded to Du Couteau's call. His reason for wanting her hadn't been sound, but that didn't matter. If she could get ahead of the game – no. There were more ways than that to get ahead of the game. She would need a pen and paper and at least a full evening. She would need information, found by her own ears and eyes and rewritten by her own hands, before she could fully understand the situation. The world was changing, and nobody would deny it.

Quinn heard the sound of an ancient door creaking open.

She looked up.

Inside, a cobble path, winding through a garden of glowing vines and leaves and flowers. It was blindingly bright, almost like staring at the sun. A stream could be heard, the gentle trickle of water navigating through the garden unseen, hidden by medley of plants. Marble and stone statues, not all depicting humans, were visible, their features obscured by the glare of the sun they reflected. No buildings were in sight; they were probably hidden around the corner. For all the extravagance of the Door, it was not a large door, and now it was dwarfed in magnificence by the garden beyond it. Nonetheless, it had opened inwards to reveal a location never meant for Quinn's eyes.

Quinn closed her mouth, which she realized was slightly parted in disbelief.

The Flame of Reflection finally drew her attention. The green matched by the other Flame was no longer an appealing tone, but rather it looked to be gloating. As if it were sentient and mocking her, fully aware of what it had done. Quinn took a reactionary step backwards, her feet feeling heavier than was natural. The words above the Door took on a much more threatening demeanor.

_The Truest Opponent Lies Within._

Adrenaline running through her body, she realized how much danger she was in. The League took prisoners. She had already proven herself halfway worthy of the League, by some twisted fire logic. At least half a dozen people – no, half a dozen entities – had been unwillingly taken by the League. Danger to the outside world, their strengths were exploited and exhibited on the Fields of Justice. If the institute _had_ detected the dark magic, would this not be the best course of action? Let her through and then overwhelm her with force, lock her away and only drag her up for sunlight whenever politics conflicted and a battle had been scheduled?

She took another step back, this time more measured. Her eyes refused to look towards Vessaria. She enumerated her possibilities of escape. A grand total of zero passed inspection. No chance in hell she could outdo a high Summoner standing less than ten meters away from the walls of the Institute of War. And the thought of Doctor Lezaro, laughing, crossed her mind. He had to have known what would happen if she had had forbidden magic cast on herself. In fact, maybe he _had_ known about the magic. He had detected it and sent her on a doomed path.

She had acted too quickly, she had been too rash. Such a thing would never have happened outside a city. In the countryside and forests, things were calm. They were slow. Animals didn't care about the minute of the day, as long as they could get food they were satisfied. Having spent forever among the animals, she had gradually adopted their calm attitude. When she had entered Senta, the largest city in Valoran, the bustling crowds had pushed her forward. She had been thrown into a mess of activity. There had been thousands of happenings around her at the same time, too much for her eyes to relay to her brain.

Instead of broken branches, missing berries on a vine, and crushed leaves underfoot, she found hundreds of feet plodding along the ground in different directions, countless ropes suspended overhead with clothing hanging from them, the smell of sweat and body odor filling her nose. The city was more alive than anything she had ever experienced before. Whereas the Demacian capital's less travelled routes were ones where she could idly walk along and enjoy the gardens and scenery, Senta's less travelled routes were as busy as the busiest Demacia could offer. She stood on the brink of an entirely different world and its atmosphere had distracted her and duped her.

She had allowed herself to be swept away, through the city gates and Lezaro's abode, past the hundreds of market stalls and restaurants and horses and people and up the stairs to the Door of Acceptance. And the wave didn't want to end there. Like a tidal wave, it was unstoppable and only building up towards a destructive end.

Vessaria stepped into view, her face stern. "The Door has opened. The interviewee will now enter."

Her voice brooked no argument. Quinn tilted her head to look Valor in the eyes.

_Fly_ , she willed.

Valor blinked in response, his claws digging into her shoulder. Vessaria cleared her throat. With the growing clamor of the crowd behind her suddenly resounding in her ears, Quinn took a deep breath.

Reluctantly, she stepped forward.


	7. Interview

Quinn had calmed down remarkably in the past five minutes. Beyond the door, they walked a winding path, Vessaria following behind her as if content to let her lead. She kept her pace slow, to prove to herself she wouldn't get caught up in the city's boisterousness again, and to examine her surroundings.

It wasn't as bright as it looked from outside the Door. Magic was probably intentionally barring outsiders' view of the place. There were a myriad of plants and trees on both sides of the path. A botanical garden, she concluded. A strange thing for the Institute to bother with, but it helped calm her – a little bit. A few times, she stopped to kneel down and examine a strange looking flower or leaf not native to Demacia. Each time, however, the sound of footsteps stopping behind her dragged her back to reality. She wouldn't apologize to Vessaria, but she quickly gave the plants one last glance before straightening up and continuing along the seemingly never ending path.

No words had been exchanged between the two of them since she had reluctantly moved through the Door. When she had, she felt the Door's magic one last time as it brushed her cheek, like a mother saying goodbye to her daughter. Quinn grimaced as she imagined how her parents would react to her current situation.

Off in the distance, she could see the many buildings that formed the institute. One large building in the center screamed importance, yet she couldn't quite determine what its use was. There was said to be a library of powerful and ancient tomes, research labs, and a highly guarded path to the Fields of Justice inside the institute – among many other things, of course. She had never once heard anything about the botanical garden.

Quinn spent the next half hour split between slowly walking through the garden, examining its contents, and mentally preparing herself for the interview. Could she simply explain she didn't want to join the League and then promise she wouldn't let any dark magic make her a mass murderer?

So, uh, hey. Funny thing, I don't actually want to be a champion of the League. Yeah – I know, right? Crazy. Anyways, I'd appreciate it if you just opened the front door for me. Yeah, don't worry about me. I'll be on my way. You won't ever need to hear from me again. Oh. Terrible, forbidden, evil, and destructively powerful dark magics, you say? Nope, I know nothing of that. I'm a good girl.

Quinn sighed.

"Problem?" Vessaria said immediately, as if she were waiting for the defeated sigh.

Quinn chose to stop walking in front of a massive and oddly content looking Venus flytrap. "No," she said, giving the easiest response possible. She vaguely wondered how the conversation would go if she admitted there was, in fact, a huge problem.

"Good. Your name?"

And then Quinn tensed. She could lie. Could she lie her way out of it all? Claim she was aware of the dark magic and she had total control over it? That she was no different from the dangerous beings from the Shadow Isles who were free to wander the city, and that she had no interest in actually joining the League?

Quinn's understanding of magic was probably somewhere between the Venus flytrap's in front of her and Luxanna Crownguard's – when the mage had been six years old. Lying about something she knew nothing about sounded like a bad idea.

What was the most intimidating dark witch name she could come up with in the next second?

"Reine Vertina." Wherever the name came from, it wasn't that bad. Quinn silently praised herself for her quick thinking, until Vessaria shook her head.

"I appreciate the sentiment of wanting to recreate yourself, but please try again."

"Excuse me?" Quinn demanded, putting more offense in her voice than she had any right to.

"I don't know what you take me for. Your lack of respect towards me bothers me only slightly, but rather I'm more offended by you thinking you're smarter than me," Vessaria said, calmly regarding the Venus flytrap. It slowly opened its leaves, preparing for the next unfortunate insect to cross its path.

"Fine," Quinn said, throwing her arms up in defeat. The best course of action now was to butcher the interview and enjoy the opportunity to investigate all the strange and unique plants that the institute was hiding from the public. "Quinn Attridge."

"Better. And your friend?"

Valor cawed, treading his claws on her shoulder, as if preparing to jump at Vessaria. Quinn wouldn't have been overly upset if he did.

"Valor," Quinn responded quietly.

"I see."

They resumed the walk, passing an miniature, old wooden bridge less than half a meter wide, where a small creek ran only a couple centimeters underneath. Its water looked clean and pure. Quinn resisted the temptation to drink. She was dehydrated from the climbing of the stairs and the torturous heat from the Flames, but the institute felt grimy with magic, as if even her boots were being mucked up from the magic in the gentle breeze. Drinking magical water wasn't likely to help make her feel any cleaner.

A few more minutes passed and Quinn realized she was still leading Vessaria. The garden path split in two. The creek ran to the right, and despite her earlier thoughts, the water might have been a good way to anger her follower. Not buying a cup of lemonade on the other side of the door was a mistake, and the water looked very appealing.

"Is this the interview?" Quinn said.

"Yes, it is. We find it more conducive to conduct interviews outside."

Quinn nodded, taking the right path. "So, start asking me questions?"

"I will, but first things first. Do you have any questions for me?"

Quinn's mind rushed through a thousand questions. Her priority, however, was to leave the place as soon as possible. "Yes, yes I do. Is this water drinkable?" she said, motioning towards the creek which now ran alongside their path.

Vessaria frowned and then slowly nodded.

Quinn dropped to her knees as Valor slid off her shoulder and into the shallow creek.

"Thank god," she muttered just loud enough for Vessaria to hear.

Valor started drinking first as Quinn took her time, cupping water into her hand. It was crystal clear water, and the perfect temperature. Cold, yet not uncomfortably so. It was perfect to refresh herself on a hot afternoon under the beating sun. She splashed a handful on her face, sighing in relief. The tingling sensation as the water ran down her face and her neck was more pleasurable than she had expected.

After spending two weeks trekking through marshland, the waters always green and slimy, Quinn could only call the small creek glorious. It was the kind of water that, had it formed a lake, she would be able to swim out to the center and look straight down to the bottom, seeing the sands, rocks, and seaweed in its depths.

Without hesitation, she dropped her head into the water and began to drink. Her hair falling over her face and into the water, she grinned. Habits of being alone all the time left her acting more animal-like than human. It was a little embarrassing, but at the same time it was the best way to end the interview quickly. Lifting her head up, Quinn shivered as more water dripped off her hair and underneath her shirt. Despite it being magical water – or perhaps because of it – Quinn couldn't remember the last time she'd had such fresh, revitalizing drink. She would regret it later, though.

Most people suffered from magic overdose only a few times in their lives, when they were children and their bodies were still adapting to the world. Quinn experienced it several times a year, onset by the smallest of things, like getting bitten by a magical beast in the forest. She had been expecting it ever since meeting Du Couteau, but unexpectedly she fell ill to natural causes from marsh water. Since entering Senta, Quinn knew it would come soon, so drinking magical water wouldn't matter all too much.

A few times over the course of her life - and more often recently - she'd wondered if she'd drew the short straw as a child, and her magical defenses had failed to develop. Quinn was pretty sure she was more sensitive to magic than other people, though it was always hard to compare.

Valor's beak was still dipped in the water as he drank. Quinn smiled before quickly cupping as much water as she could into her hands and throwing it at Valor. Immediately, he lifted his head and stared at her in disbelief. His feathers were mostly water repellent, but the dubious look he gave her made her grin. She laughed as he twitched his feathers, trying to shake like a dog. Only when he brought his wing down into the water and sent a splash towards Quinn did she calm her laughter down into quiet giggles.

"Refreshing, isn't it, Val?"

He gave her another splash in response.

"Not like some creeks we've had, though I suppose most creeks aren't on a riverbed of magic." She turned to Vessaria, wiping the water droplets off her face. "Well, I'm dry out of questions now, so your turn."

The high Summoner, not electing to respond, kept any disbelief and anger hidden away, and instead looked emotionless like the statues they had passed when they first entered through the Door.

Quinn held out her arm, giving Valor a wry look. He blinked in confirmation. She swallowed down the sense of trepidation she felt. Acting the same as she did in the forest when there were other people around feltwrong. Only trees and fauna had ever seen her and Valor's true selves. Around people, Quinn preferred to keep silent, and to listen and learn.

Vessaria eyed the creek before wiping down her red robes. Only then did Quinn realize Valor had managed to splash her too. They made a great team, her and Valor. She give her partner a discreet grin, before taking several deep breaths to mentally prepare herself for the actual interview, which should have already been sufficiently sabotaged. She would be able to coast through it, and then start making plans for Ionia.

"Yes, my turn," Vessaria said with a measured voice. "I would like to-"

Valor hopped onto Quinn's outreaching forearm, and then she stood up. Without a moment's pause, she began to pirouette in place. Like Valor was on a carousel, he held out his wings and brought his head forward in mock imitation of flying. The air felt cool on Quinn's skin as she spun around, focusing on not tripping. For Valor's part, his eyes were closed and he kept tilting his wings at different angles, enjoying the breeze as water droplets flew off him. Occasionally, he would let out a caw of content and Quinn would smile in return. The entire stunt was embarrassing to let Vessaria see, and she wanted to both burst out laughing and hide her face in a pillow. Her spinning continued for awhile, until she was certain Valor was sufficiently dry.

Finally, Quinn stopped, not willing to test Vessaria's patience any further. Valor let out an upset cry as the motion ended. Quinn planted her feet solidly on the ground facing Vessaria, before taking a forced sidestep, as the world spun around her. She focused on the persistently twisting image of Vessaria.

"Just a little dizzy, sorry. Go ahead, you had some questions for me?"

"Right, yes," the summoner said cautiously. "If-"

"Whoa!" Quinn exclaimed as Valor climbed up to her shoulder, sending her off balance again. She stumbled, falling to her knees. A moment later, she was standing again, the Demacian eagle perched safely on her shoulder "Okay. I'm steady now, do go ahead."

Vessaria nodded, still doing an excellent job of hiding her despair at the hopeless couple in front of her.

"I-" she paused, as if expecting an interruption. "I was wondering how long you and Valor have been together?"

"Huh. A long time. Too long?" Valor bopped her on the head with his beak. "Ow – not too long! Never too long. Three years and three months, give or take a bit," she finished quickly.

"He's a Demacian eagle?"

"He is." Quinn patted him affectionately on the head. "I think."

Vessaria frowned at the last part, as Valor glared at his master. A few silent seconds passed and the high summoner nodded. Holding up a hand, she indicated for Quinn to remain quiet. A short moment passed as she stared up at the light blue sky. Finally, she nodded one last time and turned a curious gaze towards Quinn.

"Alright, I've got what I need. Let's start. Quinn Attridge, Sergeant First Class of the Demacian Army. Human, of course. Born in Everridge and moved to the Demacian Capital at the age of seventeen. Currently wanted for multiple summary courts-martials after disappearing from the capital. What do you know about Demacian law, Quinn?"

"Not much," Quinn shrugged, her mind caught on the word 'multiple'. She could really feel the love flowing from Demacia despite the two thousand plus kilometers separating them.

"That's a shame. You did live there, after all. It's quite a fascinating subject, and one I've spent many hours researching. Do you know what happens when a soldier goes missing for an extended period of time?" Vessaria asked with a wry smile. "The law originated from back before the institute handled the interactions between Demacia and Noxus. Back then, many soldiers weren't accounted for after skirmishes between the kingdoms, and since Noxus never took prisoners, they were presumed dead. This never changed over the years, so now if a soldier has been missing for thirty days, they are declared dead."

"Thirty days," Quinn repeated quietly.

"And do you know how long you've been missing?"

Quinn shook her head. Vessaria was intentionally teasing her, and there was nothing Quinn could do about it.

"You're a corpse," Vessaria said cheerfully, while still managing to maintain her professionalism. "Thirty four days."

Quinn looked away, watching the creek for a moment. It wouldn't have been so long, if not for her getting sick and then the tornado delaying her. But either way, it didn't matter, did it? Closing her eyes, her memory conjured up a vivid picture of the goal – her destination. A waterwheel was churning in the background, and fields of golden wheat formed the horizon. The children kicking a ball back and forth across the dirt road, making a miniature dust storm as the mayor's family waved her goodbye.

She would return.

Vessaria crossed her arms. "Interesting, isn't it? Sometimes I wonder if the Door does these things because it can. Perhaps for revenge, though I've never seen an ancient artifact angry at being repurposed. We do try to keep care of it, but there's only so much we can do. It being a door, and all."

Quinn wondered if maybe it was offended at the concession stands and picnic tables within spitting distance of it.

"It's not that interesting," Quinn offered, not enjoying their conversation in the least.

"No? How about this for interesting – a specter from the Shadow Isles recently came under the service of the League of Legends."

Quinn hesitated. It almost felt like a trap, asking for more details. "I don't care. I don't know anything about it."

"But surely you haven't forgotten Thresh?" Vessaria smirked. "The Paz Disaster? I have my doubts that Annie could have burned as much forest as you three did."

The world really was in a tight spot, Quinn thought. Vessaria was standing here, mocking her, after allowing Thresh to roam the countryside for weeks before being subdued. With Summoners, it could have resulted in minimal casualties. And the Passengers, too. They had existed for decades, quite possibly longer. Why exactly were the magic users dragging their feet? If not for fear of retaliation, she might have asked Vessaria the question. At the rate things was going, Quinn would die doing their job.

Quinn shrugged in response to Vessaria's words. "So the Door of Acceptance is just playing around? Does it find this fun, thinking something is going to happen just because something happened before?"

Vessaria had been watching her carefully, and now she took several seconds before replying. "Fun? I hardly believe ancient artifacts recognize concept of 'fun', let alone pursue it. Why the Door accepted you, I have no idea. It could be any number of reasons. I, however, find it interesting that the primary players of the Paz Disaster are now all under the League's roof."

Somehow it did slip her mind that Luxanna was in the League. Even thinking about mages left her in a sour mood. Luxanna more so, after her brother tried to off Quinn.

"But I digress. I want to know about your fighting style."

Quinn resumed her walk around the garden, Vessaria starting to follow just when Quinn thought maybe she could walk out and leave Vessaria behind. Valor lifted off her shoulder, taking to the skies. Quinn watched him a moment, until he settled into a regular circling pattern overhead. It should have made her feel safe, knowing he was watching from above, but instead, her shoulder empty, she felt more vulnerable.

"Fighting style?" Quinn said. "What do you mean?"

"How you kill your enemies," the high Summoner elaborated.

"With a crossbow."

Quinn didn't look behind her, but she had a feeling Vessaria was shaking her head.

At some point during the walk, they had looped around, and were passing the flytrap again. It was a large garden and Quinn was taking her time examining its contents, but she was taking even more time to answer the questions directed at her.

"Stop," Vessaria suddenly commanded.

Quinn turned around to see her holding out her hand palm up.

"Hand, please."

Quinn frowned, slowly bringing her hand up.

"Today, if you would," Vessaria said, showing the first signs of impatience all day.

With reluctance, she dropped her right hand onto Vessaria's and the high Summoner closed her eyes.

Like the Door, but several orders of magnitude weaker, she could feel Vessaria's magic as it enveloped her hand – but it went no further. Five minutes passed before Vessaria finally spoke.

"Not a drop."

Quinn immediately removed her hand, stepping back. "Huh?"

Vessaria opened her eyes and furrowed her brows. She spoke quietly, as if entirely disbelieving of Quinn. "You don't own a drop of magic. There's some inside you, but from different origins. None of your own." She turned her eyes upwards, to Valor. "Does your companion do all the fighting?"

Quinn remembered Valor's attack on the Passenger, tearing its eyes out with his razor-sharp talons. She winced. "He does his fair share."

Vessaria tapped her foot impatiently. "Then I'm missing something, here."

Quinn caught sight of a plant she had somehow missed the first time through. It was small, leaves like a strawberry plant, but completely dead, with petrified brown leaves that would probably crunch and crumble to dust under any amount of pressure. She bent down, poking her fingers into the soil beside it. Moist. From a cursory inspection, there was no reason for the plant to die. Odd, when all the other plants around it were thriving. Not quite as odd as her being in the Institute of War's garden, but it still somehow jarred her. Since entering Senta, she had experienced countless new sights and sounds that she was surprised she was still functioning normally.

"Dagger," Quinn said suddenly, pulling her hand away from the dead plant. "I use a dagger, too."

Vessaria crossed her arms. "Fine, fine. There's no reason to concern myself with your fighting any longer. I'll trust the flame of Observation. Now, think carefully about this next question."

Quinn gave a small nod, and they continued down the path. Maybe she wasn't functioning normally. They had passed by the area not too long ago, yet little of the garden was familiar to her. It was as if the plants had shifted position, and some replaced by others. She even recognized a flowering Kumungu vine growing on a tree that she hadn't seen before.

"Why did you want to join the League of Legends?"

Quinn stopped, entirely forgetting the vine and the rest of the garden.

The ultimate question had been asked - one she knew was coming eventually. Quinn considered the question. For a fun thought exercise, she considered what an honest answer would have been. It wouldn't have been for the honor, respect, and acknowledgement. She had experienced enough of that in Demacia, enough to last both for herself and her brother a lifetime. Quinn knew many people joined the League for revenge. To kill someone or prove themselves stronger than that person. She had no such ambitions. It would have been nice to thwack a few bolts into Garen's head, but they would always be fighting on the same side so that was an impossibility.

Another thought crossed her mind. An opportunity to become stronger, and to perhaps even learn magic. If she had to give a real reason for a Quinn in a theoretical universe, who actually wanted into the League, then that was it. The Frost Archer could magically materialize ice arrows - which slowed her enemies - in her hand, a power which Quinn wanted almost as much as she didn't want into the League. There were other magics, too. More realistically, she could hope to glean some tricks from Shauna. After all, they were both from Demacia. If Quinn staged it right and asked in front of others, Shauna would have a hard time denying her ally.

Her spoken answer would need something else. Something which would make Vessaria frown and shake her head. How exactly could she fail the interview, while keeping it short and believable? It wouldn't be easy, Quinn thought. The League's champions were among the most questionable assortment of fighters imaginable. Quinn suspected that among them, they had every known mental illness, disease, and curse known to Runeterra. And any reason was accepted. Mass genocide, honor, revenge, power, recognition, entertainment, immortality, information. The question wasn't as straightforward as it seemed. Maybe it didn't matter at all. But if reason didn't matter, and personal character didn't either, then what did? She couldn't think of an answer, and Vessaria was waiting.

Next to her and completely silently, the Venus flytrap snapped shut. Quinn took a step away from it, when a realization hit her.

Something that fit the pattern. All the reasons, they were significant. Important. The League wanted big players; those who would be something in the future and have a meaningful impact on the world. War generals and war heroes, politicians and representatives, princes and princesses, angels and demons. It made sense, and Quinn couldn't believe she didn't see it immediately. All she needed was something believable and insignificant. A delicate balancing act.

Quinn was good at improvisation when it came to battle, but social interactions?

"I-" she started.

"Don't want in the League?"

Quinn flinched, all her thinking suddenly invalidated.

Vessaria shook her head, as if disappointed. "Do you understand the implications of the Door accepting someone? I don't think you do. I don't think you understand the League of Legends, in fact. And that's fine, but you can't simply walk away from here, unaffected by what has happened."

The image of her locked in prison with Nocturne, never getting another night of sleep again, flashed through her mind.

Valor let out a piercing cry from the skies above, before diving down towards them. For a second, Quinn began to reach for her crossbow, thinking Valor had declared it time to make their escape. Only rational thought stopped her. His three and a half meter wingspan blocked Quinn's view as he pulled himself out of the dive and carefully set himself in a hover directly in front of Vessaria, who hadn't moved an inch, her mouth open but silent.

Long seconds passed as Quinn remained still, not daring to interrupt their silent conversation. She felt only minor annoyance that Valor had acted without warning. How much could a Summoner and Demacian eagle communicate?

An interview which had started with Quinn enjoying exploring a massive botanical garden had devolved into a staring contest between a bird and a woman who had only recently been splashed by said bird. Quinn clearly had no right to interfere. After a moment's deliberation, she turned her back to them and knelt down, intent on examining a certain plant that had been in her peripheral vision for awhile.

It was for all the world a completely normal looking plant, except the dark purple berries that grew off of it. She was quite certain it wasn't serviceberry or any similar plant. The leaves were plane circular green, helping it match into the rest of the garden. Most people would have passed it without a second glance, but not Quinn. She couldn't help but shake the feeling that there was something wrong with it. Wrong in what way, Quinn couldn't say.

The silence became even more oppressive, and Quinn realized Valor had flown off. She turned around and looked up to where he was circling them. Then she looked at the high Summoner. Vessaria was frowning at the ground, fingers splayed across her forehead, apparently deep in thought.

Now would be the perfect time to run.

"Uh," Quinn said quietly, "I suppose I'll be going now."

Vessaria looked up. Quinn immediately regretted speaking.

"Yes, yes," Vessaria said.

She rose her hands and snapped her fingers. The sound echoed through the garden, somehow much sharper than Valor's cry earlier. Quinn stepped backwards. At the same time, a similar yet softer crack sounded behind her. She bumped into something.

Time slowed for her as she realized what happened. Someone had teleported behind her. A summoner. It was do or die. Too close quarters for her crossbow, she spun around, slipping out a small dagger from her raiment. Half expecting to have already been annihilated by a small burst of raw magic, Quinn took in the sight with surprise. Another summoner faced her, a short male in brown robes, as if he were a monk. His hair was brown and cut extremely short and his face made Quinn realize how young her attacker was – only he wasn't attacking. He rose his hands in the air in a placating gesture.

"Whoa, whoa, don't kill me!" he cried.

Vessaria cleared her throat. Realizing she was positioned between the two summoners, Quinn quickly removed herself so she could watch them both at the same time. Vessaria had an amused look on her face, perhaps for the first time since Quinn had shown up at the Door of Acceptance.

"This is Gerrit Hogue," she said. "He is assigned to assist you for your first week, I suggest not gutting him or otherwise causing him overt harm. He may come in useful."

Quinn's harried look quickly turned to one of confusion as she switched her attention from Vessaria to Gerrit.

He nodded eagerly. "What she said – I'll be useful, I promise!"

Vessaria continued. "Best to think of him as a teacher. He is sworn to secrecy so ask of him whatever you need. Learn what you can of him before he is reassigned."

"Yes," he said, nodding his head sagely. "I know a lot, maybe not everything I know will be of interest to you, but the League isn't nice to novices."

"And," Vessaria added, "he is still in training, so at the end of the week I will be asking you about his performance."

Gerrit cringed, before whispering conspiratorially to Quinn, "that's right. She's my mentor. Please, please, please say good things to her about me!"

Quinn's head kept swiveling between the two, unable to earn a break from all the dialogue.

"I'll warn you now," Vessaria said, "your first month may be hectic. Everyone will be eager to see your performance and analyze you. Some new champions have been on the rift over fifteen times in their first month. Sona Buvelle saw a record twenty-six matches in her first month."

"Don't let that scare you though," Gerrit jumped in. "Sona was famous well before she stepped onto the Rift."

Vessaria nodded. "I didn't mean to intimidate you. Anyways, I must thank you for showing up. The Door of Acceptance has went to sleep so I'll have at least three days to catch up on paperwork before it's back to the plaza for me."

"What." Quinn spoke. Not a question. A question would require some sort of comprehension, an understanding that a question needed to be asked in the first place. Instead, a single word, simple enough that her brain could force it out her mouth without any drool accompanying it.

"Hmm? You didn't know?" Vessaria said. She sounded much more carefree, perhaps even a little lax in her speech now. "When a new champion joins the League, the Door takes a break. By this, I mean, the magic behind it and the Flames don't respond to any outside stimulation. They're too complicated to understand, so we think of it as a recuperation period. It will be inactive for three days up to a month. Unless, of course, it decides to break pattern for the first time in years and wake up tomorrow just to spite me."

"You're looking a little pale, should I grab you a cup of water?" Gerrit asked Quinn.

Quinn looked at him, knowing her face was, indeed, pale. And very blank too. Gerrit simply nodded. Dropping his head to look at the ground, he disappearing in a puff of grey smoke. Very cliché, Quinn managed to think to herself. She turned to Vessaria.

Vessaria shrugged. "He's a good guy. Anyways, I suppose I'll be talking to you later. Have a good evening Quinn, and best of luck."

And she looked up at the sky before disappearing in a pink puff of smoke. Quinn had no thoughts to attribute to that. Standing alone in the garden, she could feel her heart pounding. Valor was still flying circles above her, as if to watch for approaching wolves. They weren't, however, in the forest. They were standing – and flying – inside the Institute of War, where the most powerful people on Valoran congregated.

Quinn turned to the creek, intending on dunking her face into it until she passed out. The creek, however, had different plans. A silent, dry riverbed sat in its place. She knelt down, running a finger along the dirt and pebbles. Completely dry, as if no water had passed through in a week. Alright, Quinn thought to herself. In reality, it wasn't alright, but then again it really didn't matter. Reality had ceased to make sense, so why bother worry over it?

In her peripheral vision, her eyes saw nothing. Hesitantly, she turned to face where the purple berry bush should have been. In its place, a patch of moss. Dark green moss. She approached it, experimentally pushing a finger into its soft layer. It was wet, as though a recent rainfall had occurred.

The obvious conclusion was too much magic. She had spent too much time around magic. From the start of the day in the marshes, to her time spent travelling the main trade route into Senta, then to the market and witch-doctors abode, and afterwards to her time in front of the Door of Acceptance, she had absorbed more magic than the rest of her life combined. Now her brain was shutting down and lying to her. As such, the logical thing to do would be to find a bed, close her eyes, and worry about the wrongness of the world tomorrow.

Her feet started bringing her towards the front entrance of the Institute of War. She had passed a cheap hotel earlier in the day, so as long as it still existed, unlike the berry plant and creek, she would be laying on a bed within the hour.

When another crack resonated throughout the garden, Quinn stopped her feet. She turned around, a little unwillingly, to face Gerrit, whom she had somehow already forgotten about. He offered her a smile.

"I was going to grab some water, but then I thought 'hey, water is pretty lame', so here's some iced lemonade!"

The drink found its way into her hand, the cool glass unfortunately not bringing clarity to her mind. Taking a sip, she watched as Gerrit pointed towards one of the buildings next to the largest structure.

"Since you haven't been introduced to the League yet, you have to spend the night here. Once we get you acquainted, I'm sure your prince – oh, sorry, that was a little informal of me – I'm sure Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth will have a nice house on Demacia Avenue set aside for you – he knows you're in, right?"


	8. Stage Time

_It was an ambush, the forest whispered to her. There were lots of them, and she was already surrounded._

_Quinn picked up her pace, moving towards one of the thicker trees she could see. Her and Valor's mission completed, Valor had left her to report to the army and get their next orders. She was on her own. As soon as she reached the tree, she put her back to it and pulled out her crossbow. The forest was silent, now. Not a peep from the birds or squirrels, but that alone was telling. She swallowed, as if the simple action could keep her fear down. The Noxus soldiers must have sent a squad out after her, when she'd left their boats burning at the docks. It hadn't taken them long to catch up to her, as she'd set a slow pace back towards Ionia's interior._

_A branch broke, signaling the start of the battle. Quinn saw the first soldier, as he charged through the trees. She took aim, waited a moment to ensure he wasn't going to change his trajectory, then fired. The bolt left her bow with a clean twang, and it found its mark. Her enemy lurched back as the bolt entered his head, but Quinn was already looking away, for another target. She got three of them down, before an impending sword had her drop her crossbow in favour of the dagger at her side. Their blades clashed and Quinn quickly found the leverage necessary to stagger her enemy and move in for the kill._

_They were fearless – somehow able to continue a brazen offensive when three of their comrades had already fallen. It was as if the psychology of war didn't affect Noxus soldiers, and they would keep fighting until the last of them fell, only for their scientists to raise them from the dead, condemning them to a endless war. Fortunately for Quinn, she was on top of her game. Their stabs and slashes weren't as fast as she'd expected, and she was easily able to parry and offer an attack in return._

_One by one, they fell to the ground. Before she knew it, the forest was quiet again, the screams of Noxians gone. She knelt down, checking each body in turn. Their swords weren't useful, but she looted a little Ionian currency and took a spare dagger._

_She heard the sound – the unmistakable sound of an arrow's flight – but wasn't able to react in time. It cut into her leg, low enough that no armoured plate could stop it, but high enough that her shoes didn't impede the arrow._

_Quinn took a fraction of a second to visualize the arrow's trajectory. Fingers on her looted dagger, she spun and released in a single motion. Her aim was true, and even as she saw the archer, half hidden by a tree, the dagger caught the dead center of his neck. He fell._

_Confident he couldn't survive, Quinn immediately rolled over. The arrow had caught her from behind, digging into her cartilage and muscles. Ripping it out now would cause long lasting injuries. Even without seeing the arrow's head, she knew its design. It was made to cause massive bleeding if it didn't outright kill its target, and the blood swelling from the wound indicated the arrow was doing its job, even if its owner was already dead._

_She would have died – unconscious and slowly bleeding out into the river she'd collapsed next to – if she hadn't been found so quickly. When Quinn woke up, she was in a small shack. Looking around, she could see no traces of electricity, or any magical system for that matter. It was a modest place. Made of wood, it looked to be old and worn by the weather. Boards were warped, and Quinn could see out through a crack next to her bed. It was midday, the grass outside was tall and swaying in the wind. Looking up at the sky, she couldn't see any clouds. She was at peace, momentarily forgetting the war that tore the lands apart._

_On the bedside table, a broad-headed arrow lay, the shaft broken into many smaller pieces._

_She learned that, by sheer luck, the village's doctor had found her while out collecting medicinal herbs. Quinn had been nursed back to health in the village, and slept for several days before finally making a nearly full recovery._

_The children had apparently never met an outsider before, and were swarming her at seemingly every corner. They pestered her for stories, and they asked her about her weapons, and what she was doing in Ionia. At first, Quinn had been overwhelmed. She'd tried to brush them off with curt words, but they never took the hint. When the village's only teacher invited her to the morning session of class, Quinn gave up. She'd never thought of herself as a teacher, but the children clung to her every words, as though she were the world's best storyteller. The teacher, Bellina, and her discussed politics and the war. She'd offered her insight on Demacian policies, and how they operated. In return, she would garner bits of information from the children, who'd been eager to teach her more about Ionia. By the end of the day, Quinn finally extracted herself from the eager students, but only after being forced to promise more lessons._

_The next day, she had duped them – though they were so willing she didn't feel the least bit guilty – into making arrows and bolts. She met the village's fletcher, and together took the kids out into the forest, pointing out the various trees and their uses. The day after that, half the children wanted to shoot her crossbow, and the other half were pestering the village's guard for bows. In the end, Quinn oversaw the students as they navigated arduous process of making these weapons from scratch. Valor returned, and the children were in an uproar again, amazed at the sheer size and intelligence of the Demacian eagle._

_She and the village's doctor – whom she'd thank at every opportunity, for saving her life – had become friends. They would search the surrounding forest for herbs, sharing information on their vast knowledge of the forest and its contents. Mornings were most often spent in class, where Quinn assisting in everything, from maths, to language, to history. Quinn had also occasionally joined the hunters, who spent their evenings hunting Ionian deer for everyone's meals._

_It was a place unaffected by war and magic. It was a haven, to escape the atrocities of the world. Quinn didn't want to leave, even after she'd read the letter Valor brought back and received her orders to pull out. The League of Legends was officially negotiating peace, and their presence was no longer needed in Ionia. In four weeks time, there would be a battle on the Summoner's Rift, where the Noxus occupation of Ionia would either come to an end, or become fully cemented on Ionian soil. Of course, the villagers didn't know. They wouldn't, until one of the kingdom's messengers passed through the area in the following weeks._

_Quinn had even had a house in the village, given to her by the mayor. She'd made more friends there than in the rest of her life. She didn't want to leave, and didn't think Valor was completely set on returning to Demacia either. Why she left – why she abandoned the best thing she had ever had – Quinn didn't know. She told them she would return, promised the children, and had Ionia lost the battle on the Rift, she might have caught the very next boat to the mainland, to fend off the Noxians and protect the village. In the end, however, Ionia won. Noxians were expected to pull out of the kingdom, returning to their homeland. With the Noxian battalions suddenly back in Valoran, looking for action after being denied, Demacia went into full alert. She'd been distracted with missions, spying on the enemy every other day, and slowly the promise she'd made to the children faded in her mind, until she had become a slave of the army._

* * *

Waking up, Quinn hesitated. The dirt was too hard and unnaturally flat for a forest floor. In a single motion, she shrugged her blanket off and pulled herself to her feet. There was no dirt, only the tiled floor of the room she was in. That room, of course, was in the Institute of War. Where else would it have been, she thought to herself glumly? At the very least, her head was much clearer and she had somehow not fallen ill from all the magic she'd experienced. The previous day still felt like a half forgotten dream.

Valor was nowhere to be seen, but after a second of gathering her thoughts, it made sense. He had probably perched outside somewhere for the night, unwilling to enter through so many small doors and long, magical hallways to reach the room where she had been condemned to sleep.

Quinn shrugged off her lightweight sleeping shirt that the institute had thoughtfully provided. They somehow didn't think to provide a bottom for the sleepwear, so Quinn's thoughts wandered to doing laundry, as she stretched her arms out to the side and yawned. Feeling a little more alert, Quinn examined the room. The stone walls reminded her of a Noxian prison she once saw, but the institute lacked the stench of death and the dying. Instead, Quinn could feel traces of magic on every surface. It, and the Door from the previous day, left her feeling grimy. Unfortunately, it wasn't the grime of sweat and dirt of a forest, but rather an intangible layer of magic on her skin that she couldn't ignore. She needed a shower, but first, adherence to her morning routine. Forest or not, skipping a day would only make it harder to resume the day after.

A piece of paper on the ground caught her eye as she wrapped up her morning exercise. It appeared to have been slid under the door. She fetched it. Signed by Gerrit in messy handwriting, the note was only several lines long. She would be introduced by High Councilor Linden at exactly noon to a crowd of League champions. It would also be broadcast on live television to all the citizens of Senta. Quinn dropped to the bed, feeling a growing sense of agitation in her stomach at the thought. After staring lifelessly at the clock for a minute, she realized she still had five hours before her introduction.

Yesterday, her mind hadn't been functioning at its peak. Things seemed foggy, yet there was one pressing thing she could remember. Whether it had been announced yet or not, she was already officially a member of the League of Legends. Gerry had her sign papers last night. Desperate for sleep and overwhelmed by the magic around her, she hadn't questioned them. While paper and words hardly felt legally binding to her, she had a feeling it wouldn't be easy to simply walk out and never be seen again. That, and Valor. Valor would find her signature on a paper more compelling than she would.

There were two doors attached to her temporary room. Quinn peaked out the first one. A large hallway, wide enough for Valor to easily fly down, was presented before her. She could see countless other doors along the walls, with candles at even intervals. They all glowed an unnaturally bright red. Magic, she thought with a sense of unease.

It was foolish to think like that while she was standing in one of the most magical places on Runeterra, but it couldn't be helped. Or at least, she hoped it wouldn't be helped. Unless she learned some magic herself, she never wanted to feel comfortable around it. It would be a weakness, to relax when a raw burst of energy could kill her before she could so much as blink. Besides, she had enough weaknesses as it were.

She closed the door, retreating back into the room.

Quinn didn't consider herself a member of the League, but nonetheless, she mentally ran through the list of champions in the League – her potential opponents. When she realized she couldn't count more than a couple dozen, a book by the bedside table caught her attention. It chronicled every champion the League had admitted, along with various details. The table of contents gave her a quick list of members. Too many Demacians was her first, unfiltered thought. More than Noxians. Though oddly enough, both kingdoms were outmatched in quantity by the Ionians, who had joined the League only recently as compared to the two other super powers.

Setting the book back down, she tried the room's only remaining door, finding more success. The bathroom. No freezing bath in a too-shallow river for her. She could live a little extravagantly for a day. She stepped inside the bathroom and stripped, freezing temporarily in front of the mirror. The last mirror she'd looked in was months ago in Demacia, when she had been examining scars given to her by Thresh.

Quinn was taller than the average female her age and much stronger. Growing up on a farm, she had done physical labour every day in the fields, determined to keep up with her brother. When her brother passed on, she had found herself gravitating towards physically intensive jobs, enjoying the strain it put on her body, as if it were strengthening her and bringing her closer to her goals.

The shower was revitalizing. She could still feel magic wafting through the room, but the dirt and grime that for weeks in the forest had been ignored was finally wiped off. There was a shampoo in the shower that she had used and now regretted – it smelled too strongly of mint. Quinn did a quick check in the mirror, wanting for all the world to leave her hair and continue about her day. Generally, she found that her hair's rare and natural purple color worked to distract attention from its messiness. Today, however, she would be introduced to a great many people, Quinn feared. It wouldn't be good to slack in the appearance department. She spent a moment trying to tame it a little. A handful of knots were quickly defeated, and she left the bathroom feeling successful, but with the butterflies in her stomach growing stronger.

* * *

The process of finding Gerrit and joining up with High Councilor Linden was easier than expected. The High Councilor was, fortunately, not one for talk. His grey beard and slow movements left her wondering his age. Together with Gerrit and Linden, their walk to the public stages west of Bilgewater Avenue was a one sided conversation. Gerrit was spouting out information that probably would have needed note taking for her to remember even of fraction of, and it seemed like every five minutes he reminded her not to agitate the Noxians and Zaunites.

She bit her tongue each time, wanting to tell him she would be more likely to agitate the Demacians instead. Actually, she thought, just her very presence would royally screw them over. Point in case, she wasn't royalty. Not from a noble family, or even upper class, she was simply a country born girl who, when King Jarvan III wasn't watching, was promoted by the prince. Prince Jarvan was very possibly the only ally she had in the city, aside from Valor.

Her presence in the League of Legends would tarnish the Demacian reputation. Maybe even warrant another assassin, if they weren't too afraid of the League's enforcers. While crime at the outer rings of the city were common, the closer one got to the Institute of War, the cleaner everything got. The homeless and beggars disappeared, and the thieves didn't risk it, even though the nobles were ripe targets. Garbage accumulated in the outer residential district, while in the inner district was regularly cleaned. Not that there was much to clean near the Institute – Summoners were scary individuals and you didn't want to be caught littering near their homes.

Their small group was now behind the stage in a makeshift tent. The High Councilor had papers in hand, examining them carefully despite probably knowing the contents word for word. Gerrit was talking to her, his hands moving around animatedly and displaying all too much energy. It was probably something she should have acknowledged.

"You aren't to say anything. When he calls you, you simply walk up there and stand upright until he starts heading back to the tent, then you follow him. Sounds real easy, but the trick is you gotta do it looking good. This is when all your potential allies and enemies are going to be sizing you up. Uh – Valor – try to look intimidating, I guess. Man, we really should have done something about your armor. Anyways, while Prince Jarvan might pick you up any time it's Demacia participating on the Summoner's Rift, the other times are just as important. Bandle City can't go onto the Rift always choosing between their eight natives. Their enemies will know exactly who they're going to be facing and will pick up champions who've bested those Yordles many times before. Befriend some peeps and you can help Demacia more than you've ever expected."

Some time during his lecture, the High Councilor had left the tent and appeared on stage. Quinn couldn't see the crowd, but she could hear it. Was it too late to run away?

"You nervous or something?" Gerrit said.

"Maybe," Quinn responded offhandedly. Much too late to run. She would at least enjoy the look of astonishment and disbelief of Garen. The thought was accompanied by Valor affectionately rubbing his head against her ear.

"Actually," she said, "do you know if Garen is here?"

"The Might of Demacia? Yeah, he's here, along with his sister. So is the prince and Shauna, and a whole bunch of other Demacians. I guess they're all here for a show of force. Looking to show Noxus that they keep growing and getting stronger."

"Uh huh."

Nothing else to say, really. The Demacians, unless someone had contacted them in the last twenty four hours, had no clue what was about to transpire. Quinn grimaced. How badly could it go? An elderly voice resonating from the stage caught her attention.

"And thus, we introduce the League's one hundred and eleventh champion, Quinn Attridge, of Demacia!"

* * *

Gerrit shoved her forward, and she moved on autopilot. Thankfully, she didn't trip on the steps up. As she had been instructed, she took her place beside High Councilor Linden. He didn't look at her, or even acknowledge her presence.

"The League becomes stronger with each passing day," he said amid the flurry of talk.

His speech continued on, but Quinn had her concentration on the crowd, examining it intently. It was immediately apparent that the crowd was divided into two. Civilians out far and champions in close. She kept her head held high, as though not the least bit intimidated by the countless people below her who could kill her without so much as stretching their arms out. Her decision not to eat breakfast had been a good one.

There were at least forty champions present, Quinn realized when she did a rough head count. It seemed to be an unusually large number, but she didn't really know. Demacian champions like Garen and Jarvan spent several weeks at a time in the capital, before travelling to the League and spending a few weeks there. If most champions spent so long in their home kingdoms, Quinn would have expected the crowd to be much smaller. There were also a large number of champions who didn't go out in public, or didn't care about new arrivals in the League. All in all, there were too many people watching her. Too many potential opponents. She didn't want to be long in the city.

As Gerrit had said, the Demacians owned a corner of the front crowd. They were all staring at her like she was an alien – alright, probably not. They had seen their fair share of aliens in the League. More like she was a leper, hellbent on spreading her disease to them. Irrationally, the thought pleased her. They would have to pretend to be unsurprised around their peers or else look weak. They had no choice but to welcome her with open arms.

The captain of the Dauntless Vanguard was adorned in his usual shiny silver Demacian armor. It was trimmed gold and he had a dark blue cape decorating it. It entirely hid his figure, but Quinn knew how powerful he was. He was only allowed to hide beneath his armor because his strength always spoke for itself. Anyone who thought to mock him for needing such protection was either a soon-to-be-dead enemy or had never heard of the Might of Demacia.

When he saw Quinn, he grimaced, wide eyes frozen on her. Quinn met his eyes and smirked, causing him to turn to Jarvan, whispering quick, unheard words. The prince of Demacia nodded a few times, listening intently.

On the other side of Garen was a girl who immediately caught Quinn's attention. The butterflies in Quinn's stomach calmed for a moment when she saw the familiar face. Luxanna Crownguard was among the youngest champions in the League. Quinn was only 20 years old, and she was pretty sure Luxanna had been born a year after her. It made for a giant gap, when comparing them to the ancients and immortals of the League of Legends. Yet despite being much younger than everyone around her, Luxanna had joined the League even before her prince, and she'd experienced success after success on the Rift.

A girl of indescribably powerful light magic – or so she was described - she was also the dream of half men in the Demacian army. To Quinn, she looked simply like a petite, smiling girl. An innocent appearance, but a dangerous family name, and a mage to boot. Quinn pushed the fond memory of their dinner together out of her mind. That was the exception, not the norm, when spending time around mages and nobility.

Quinn had to keep a stoic face, in front of the thousands of live audience, but she nearly frowned when she caught sight of what Luxanna was doing. The girl was tilting her head left and then right continuously, as if trying to get a better view of something just behind Quinn.

Quinn's peripheral vision told her that was not true. Instead, she saw Valor, perched tightly on her left shoulder, copying Luxanna's exact moves. His head paused tilted towards the High Councilor, then, like a pendulum, it swung over and paused centimeters from Quinn's hair. It repeated in synchrony with the blonde girl a few times before Quinn quickly twitched her shoulder. Both bird and girl stopped.

Who had been copying who, Quinn wondered? At the very least, Valor must have looked very intimidating cocking his head back and forth. Quinn gave Luxanna a glare. The Crownguard daughter gave a mock pouting face in return, and Quinn looked away with a roll of her eyes.

The thought hadn't occurred to her that the Demacians would freely reject her in front of everyone, but Luxanna's actions indicated they were already setting up to make her look bad. It was entirely possible they wouldn't ever take her onto the Rift. She did, apparently, have several courts-martial on her name. Things could turn very ugly, very quickly, if she stayed in the League.

Since Vessaria and the Door had tested her for magic, Quinn had grown more confident that she was clean of any curses. In combination with doctor Lezaro's inspection, she would have to have terrible luck to have missed anything.

Once she spoke with Valor, and convinced him that breaking the League's contract was in their best interests, she would leave the city. She would leave all the cities behind, and find a peaceful life in the forests of Ionia.

Although, there was one more thing she wanted to do. To put her mind at peace, she would have to pay a visit to Luxanna. Ever since their dinner, something had been bothering her. For some incomprehensible reason, she had let the mage pay for their dinner. Accepting a meal from a Crownguard didn't sit well with her, and she would need to pay Luxanna back.

The League had already given her her first month's pay, so she would clear her debt with Luxanna and then disappear. It was a bridge-burning plan - she was already wanted by Demacians and Noxians, angering the Summoners was questionable - but it was the best way for her to get what she wanted. Besides, Valor would never want to stay in the League. The two of them belonged to the forest, not a massive city owned by magic users.

Quinn's thoughts settled, she turned her attention back to the world in front of her.

Behind the champions, a sea of people. The citizens of Senta who managed to sneak time off of their busy schedules had accumulated to see the newest celebrity. There was no point in even attempting to estimate their number. Starting a meter back from the farthest champion, the mass swelled in size, heading down the road as far as the eye could see. A few buildings with access to the roof had people piling on top. And then Quinn noticed the large sphere floating in the sky. It looked solid with a gassy blue layer of magic obscuring the core. Hovering perfectly still, it recorded everything in its surroundings, sending a projection to millions of other spheres stationed around Senta. Her image was being seen in houses, bars and pubs, stores and hotels, _everywhere._

No reason to panic, Quinn thought. She literally had nothing to do but stand still. Millions of people sizing her up, imagining how should would fare against an expert of the League, such as Jax. There was no way anything could go wrong.

* * *

Pressure on Quinn's shoulder alerted her. Valor launched himself into the sky. A few people in the crowd cried out, and Quinn started to look around wildly for the reason behind Valor's actions. For some inexplicable reason, Quinn hesitated. Someone shouted words that should have made sense, but Quinn couldn't focus. As if suddenly submerged in water, her next breath failed to come. She reached for her throat, half expecting to find something constricting it. Even before she could act, however, her vision blurred, and when she blinked, she found herself standing in the makeshift summoner's tent. She spun around.

"That's your queue!" Gerrit hissed.

"What?" Quinn said, gasping for air.

She felt a familiar weight on her shoulder. Valor, settled calmly next to her head, as though he'd never left. The summoners in the tent, the faint talk of the crowd outside, and Gerrit urging her into stage… Quinn staggered a little, unable to comprehend what happened. Gerrit gave her a forceful shove, and she instinctively began walking up the stairs onto stage. She stopped next to the high summoner, who didn't look at her, or even acknowledge her presence.

"The League becomes stronger with each passing day," he said amid the flurry of talk.

Quinn froze. Valor tensed – but this time only in reaction to her.

It took no more than a moment to evaluate the crowd, the position of the clouds, and the old man's speech. Indeed, she had lived all this before. That, alone, didn't explain anything. There was an enemy out there, and handling it was top priority. Time manipulation was the most powerful magic imaginable, and perception magic was equally as dangerous. Whatever had happened to her, she knew she had to act quickly. Her eyes took the crowd in in a different light. She skipped the civilians, realizing there was no time to look for an enemy in their midst, and instead started through the champions. Under pressure, she recognized many but not enough names were coming to her. LeBlanc, a metal girl, a mutant crocodile monster. A large number of them appeared hostile, but they _were_ League champions. She was specifically looking for someone who was preparing to cast magic or make an attack. What did the enemy gain by setting her back in time?

She had never thought too much about the details and laws of time. She'd heard about chronomancers south of the Great Barrier, but they were few and lived vastly different lives than the rest of the world. Chronomancers, irrelevant of their appearances, were centuries wiser than the rest of the continent. They grew bored of interactions with normal people, thinking of them as inferior, brainless children. These super beings isolated themselves so they could practice in peace. The rest of the world, afraid of the power to manipulate time, had no complaints and generally left them alone, giving the ruins of Urtistan a wide berth.

Quinn forced herself back to the present issue. No, it wasn't time control, that was too far fetched. It was perception manipulation. It had to have been. Valor had seen it first. He had launched himself towards the crowd before Quinn had known anything was wrong. What had Valor noticed? Quinn couldn't see any Summoners in the mass of people.

Valor tilted his head. Quinn immediately found Luxanna in the crowd. She was mimicking him. An enemy, or coincidence, Quinn wondered? In the normal run of events, this process would continue for at least ten seconds.

Quinn snapped her fingers, getting Valor's attention. Two hand signals, danger and patrol. Valor understood, and took off into the skies. The crowd gasped. There was less than half a minute before she was back into to where she was before. Subconsciously, Quinn rubbed her throat.

A massive object was flying towards her. A blur, so much so that Quinn didn't think to stop it, but rather threw herself out of the way. She hit the stage hard, catching sight of Valor dive bombing a target in the audience. She could hear the high Summoner's speech sputter and die, but choose not to rely on him to help. Even Summoners reached an age where their reactions were too slow to fight.

The enemy decided to reveal themselves before being spotted – meaning either they were either confident or impatient.

Quinn got to her feet. Knife in hand, she leaped off stage and charged into the crowd, which quickly parted ways for her. Arriving at an isolated person in the crowd who was fending off Valor's claws, Quinn realized she was already facing her enemy. Valor pulled back, momentarily, large wings bringing up a dust storm in the crowd.

Skin tanned from years of hard work in the desert, the woman wore cloth designed more for protection from sand and heat than anything else. Her brown hair was kept in place with a tiara, a large sapphire embedded in it. She was attractive, in an exotic sort of way, and she was staring directly at Quinn.

"Sivir?" Quinn said, the name somehow immediately coming to her.

The battle hardened mercenary had no visible weapon on her, and her eyes were unfocused, almost as if not interested in the battle at hand. For a second, Quinn couldn't believe Sivir had been the one to attack her, and then the woman grinned. The quickest flicker of her eyes gave away a more important realization.

_Sivir. Boomerang._

Quinn began to turn so she could avoid acting blindly, but it was too late. The boomerang's return caught her, colliding with her back and knocking her off her feet. She caught sight of Sivir following up, and Quinn rolled when she hit the ground, creating more distance. It all happened in an instant. She recovered as Valor moved in, and Quinn saw her opportunity.

Swinging her boomerang like a sword, Sivir fended off Valor's attack, and Quinn was on her in a flash. Prudence kept her from attacking with her dagger, instead settling for a quick punch and sweeping kick, knocking Sivir to her feet. Before her attacker could react, Quinn stepped on her arm and twisted her foot, freeing the boomerang. Enemy disarmed, Quinn drew her dagger and dropped on top of Sivir. Straddling the mercenary's chest, Quinn brought the dagger up to Sivir's neck.

"We done here?" she hissed.

Her anger almost wanted a negative response so she could finish the job. It seemed everyone wanted her dead, and Quinn was sick of it. She had left Demacia to avoid this very thing.

Sivir grit her teeth and remained silent. Before Quinn could draw blood, however, someone pulled up and away from the mercenary. Quinn elbowed them as hard as she could, before turning around to see Gerrit stumbling back.

"Enough, Quinn," he gasped. "You won."

"I won," Quinn said. "What the _hell_ was it, exactly, that I won?"

Sivir climbed to her feet, sending Quinn back a few steps. "Relax, hunter. I was just testing you – nothing else. You didn't look too impressive, so I thought maybe the League was trying to pull a quick one on us." She shook her arms, wincing, and retrieved her boomerang. When she turned to face Quinn again, it felt as though she were not looking at Quinn, but rather behind her. "You passed, if it means anything to you. If you want to hold a grudge against me, we can settle it on the Rift."

Quinn opened her mouth, but found she had nothing to say to Sivir. As if content, the mercenary nodded and left, easily breaking through the crowd.

"Let's go, too, Quinn," Gerrit said.

Quinn only nodded. There were too many eyes on her. As they left in the opposite direction of Sivir, Quinn thought to look back, to see what Sivir had been so intent on watching during their conversation. Aside from the summoner's tent, all she could see was a clock tower against the backdrop of the blue sky.

* * *

"Valor, I saw you and Luxanna."

Valor cocked his head, as though he didn't know what she was referring to.

"You think you're funny, Val? Is that your tough act?"

He responded by buffeting her hair with an extended wing.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a sucker for cute girls. I get it. Something we need to work on, eh? Need to be wary of that light magic."

If a Demacian eagle could look surprised, then that was how Valor seemed to be. Quinn brought her hands up.

"Whoah, slow down there buddy. I meant that it - it's an objective observation, isn't it? She's attractive. I mean, remember that time last year when we were scouting the Serpentine river for that squad? Whenever I overheard their conversations, it was always about Luxanna. So quit giving me that look, and pack your feathers. We're leaving town as soon as I wrap up some business here.

He gave her a negative caw.

"Valor... you can't be serious?"

The Demacian eagle had one of the most intense stares imaginable when he was serious. It sometimes terrified her, how easily and quickly he could go from playing to 'my knowledge is infinite and you had better listen to what I say' serious.

But that was how it worked. Quinn unequivocally trusted Valor. While she dreamt of the pure lands of Ionia, if Valor said they were staying in Senta, then they would. At least for a little while longer.


	9. Fealty

Sivir hadn't been the one to roll back time. There was still a threat lurking in the city, and Quinn was kept on her toes, eyes locking onto every movement and checking every shadow. Yet for some reason, she didn't think anything more would happen. Her unknown opponent had plenty of chances to kill her, but had only managed to confuse her. Something else was at play, and she couldn't react until she had more information. In the end, she'd sent Valor to keep tabs on Sivir, and she had followed Gerrit away from the crowd and back into the institute's grounds.

He had insisted on giving her the tour of the Institute of War, and Quinn couldn't deny his excitement. He might have been trying a little too hard, but she didn't have the heart to tell him that. After all, a Summoner was a Summoner. He might one day grow to be as strong as Vessaria, and that would make for one good ally to have in the world. Or at the very least, one good non-enemy.

The center building was the main administration building. Easily five times larger than the second largest building in the Institute, it was _massive_. The capital of Demacia had some large buildings, but they all looked laughable compared to the one they stood in front of now. Larger than the Demacian castle where the Lightshields lived – though it's height didn't quite match the castle's – it held six floors, each of several hundred rooms. Piltover had a few taller buildings with smaller widths, but they were experimental structures, and Piltover had a tendency to experience earthquakes so they weren't too popular.

When Quinn asked what all the rooms were used for, Gerrit admitted they didn't quite use them all. Some were reserved for future senior Summoners and researchers. Offices and storage rooms were the most common usage for the other rooms, despite the library building itself having more storage rooms than Quinn could ever bother to count.

They passed through the Rift Room, the term coined because it was where champions were teleported to the Rift for battle. It was the single largest room Quinn had seen in her entire life, and probably for the rest of her life. The ceiling was too far up for her to make a proper estimated, though Valor could have told her in a second. The entrance to the room was just a massive length of missing wall. Wide enough to accommodate the fattest of champions, the entryway reached up to the roof, so its height would never be a problem. The architects of the building had certainly erred on the side of caution. With magic at their hands, though, it probably hadn't been overtly difficult to make such a gargantuan room.

In the center of the room was a magical object, emanating an aura so powerful, the Door of Acceptance was laughably weak in comparison. Quinn didn't stay in the room long, only enough to see the pyramidal object.

"What was it?" Quinn asked, once they were a safe distance away.

"The pyramid?" Gerrit said with a proud grin, as though he'd had a part in its creation. "That's the League's masterpiece, Suuntaava. It's a magical artifact that anchors the Summoner's Rift dimension to ours. It's quite a genius invention, siphoning magical energy from the other dimension into our own, in order to power itself and maintain the connection. With it doing its job, Summoners only need to tap into it and begin the teleportation to the dimension, then Suuntaava immediately takes over, pouring power into the spell and safely seeing the target through to the destination."

Quinn remained quiet, not electing to even try to understand teleportation magic. It would be a source of non-stop headaches if she were to attempt.

Once done with the major buildings in the Institute of War, they left through the front gates and headed west. The buildings immediately outside the Institute were all single floor commercial buildings. A newspaper company, a barber's, a bakery, and a generic red bricked building with shutters covering the windows that didn't fit well with all the upscale buildings. She couldn't even venture a guess as to what its purpose was.

And finally, they arrived at their destination, Demacia Avenue. Every region from around Runeterra had a street named for them. If a noble from the region wanted to move to Senta, then they would receive a plot of land on their street, able to build a house exactly as they desired. It was where the champions of the League lived, excepting those who were prisoners - they were kept locked away in some clandestine location, probably deep underground and well guarded.

With just a few words, Gerrit bid his farewell. Turning his head down, he disappeared with his usual puff of gray smoke, leaving Quinn standing alone on the center of the street. She moved off to the side, watching as a cart full of apples passed her by. Hitting a rock on the road, the cart bounced and one broke free of its container, jumping out to meet its demise on the ground below. She stared at it, realizing how tempting it was.

Now that the pressure of being on the stage was over, her hunger was slowly coming back. She would have to find something to eat, but first, she needed to pay a visit to her prince. There was the ever present possibility of being arrested, but she couldn't stay in the city without the Demacians hunting her down. She wanted to go to them, rather than have them come to her. It was an attempt to keep control of her life, though it was also a big risk.

In total honesty, Quinn didn't want to screw Demacia over. It wasn't her intention to make them look unorganized and weak at the League, but that's what was going to happen. Even if she never fought on the Rift, people would be talking about her. If she was arrested and never seen again in public, then Jarvan would be getting lots of questions. She didn't want to get involved with them – with everything. It was best to stay on guard, and make it a quick meeting.

Before Gerrit had left, he had pointed out the Demacian headquarters. It was in between Jarvan's and Garen's houses. Gerrit had even said the prince was inside. How the summoner knew, Quinn wasn't sure. Cautiously, she began her approach. Her mind was all over the place, making a hundred different predictions a second at how everything would play out, none seeming any likelier than the other. She would simply have to go with the flow. Apologize for her reckless entrance into the League, pepper in a few plausible lies, and finish her business in Senta as soon as possible.

Hands, appearing out of nowhere, wrapped around her neck, as someone tackled her. Quinn stumbled forward a few steps, took a deep breath – thinking it might be her last – and brought her elbow up to strike her attacker, before recognizing the voice.

"Quinn! You're alive!"

Quinn ducked out of the hug, and spun around.

_Multiple courts-martials._ The Crownguards were her enemy, and the rest of Demacia's nobles, too. Despite the innocent girl's exceedingly wide smile and friendly demeanor, she wasn't an ally. She was a complication. She was also Quinn's superior, in the army, and Quinn took a second to gather her emotions. Once she was confident she could speak civilly, Quinn greeted the girl.

"Major Luxanna," she said, lowering her head a little in attempt at showing respect.

The girl's smile shrunk a little. "Lux, you can call me Lux."

"I can, but I won't."

"Everyone else does," she said, probably referring to her fellow Demacians in the League. Quinn remained silent, causing Luxanna to fidget nervously. "Glad to see you're... well, you're alive. And congratulations. Though you never sounded very fond of the League so I'm a little surprised you're here."

Quinn shrugged, rubbing her neck where Luxanna's arms had wrapped around her. The unwelcome contact left her skin tingling.

"Look," Quinn said, crossing her arms. "We aren't friends, and you don't have to pretend otherwise."

Luxanna recoiled, taking a step backwards. She actually looked offended at what Quinn had said.

"We – we're acquaintances, at least?" she said, looking up at Quinn hopefully.

Quinn sighed. "We both know what happened – why I left Demacia. It's not something I'm going to forget, so if you guys leave me alone, I'll do my best to leave you alone."

Luxanna shook her head slowly, as if she didn't understand. "But I don't want you to leave me alone."

"What?" Quinn said, honestly thinking she'd misheard the girl quiet voice.

"I want to be friends with you."

"That's-" Quinn hesitated. It was, wasn't it? "That's stupid. We're too different. You're a _mage_. We live completely different lives. You don't need to befriend everyone you meet, you know?"

"I know," Luxanna said, as she began walking towards the headquarters. "But I want to be your friend. I was really hoping – listen, let's talk after you meet with Jarvan."

Luxanna opened the door to the building, and motioned for Quinn to enter.

All too soon, Quinn found herself in the building. She forced the girl out of mind, wanting to focus on the situation at hand.

It was a traditional log cabin, unfitting compared to the rest of the buildings on the street, and on the streets back in Demacia. On both the left and right, stairs led up to the second floor. The first floor was left wide open. Like a dining hall, it featured a long table and many chairs tucked neatly in. All made of wood. Didn't the League have a pyromaniac? It probably would have been in bad taste to point this out.

Jarvan was seated at the head of the table, looking princely with his shining armor. Garen was on his right and, to Quinn's surprise, Taric on his left. She had never actually seen the Gem Knight in person before, so it was a little surprising. He didn't have his armor on, like Garen did. Instead, he wore a thick brown robe with countless gems embedded in it, seemingly at random. All the gems were small and of varying shades of blue, making it look like he had been dunked in a bowl of birthday glitter. That wasn't to say it didn't fit him. Upon closer inspection, there even seemed to be some sense to the random layout of the gems. A magic diagram? She had a feeling that it offered better defense than a standard set of armour.

She pushed her hesitation away and stepped forward. Having approached the table sufficiently close, she dropped to one leg, bowing her head.

"Your royal highness, prince Jarvan the Fourth, I apologize for my unannounced arrival."

"Rise," came the sharp and immediate response.

She rose, daring to look him in the eyes. He seemed to be just as unsure as she did.

"You are alive," he noted.

Quinn nodded. Something along the lines of 'excellent observation skills, your highness' crossed her mind, but she refrained. She could hear Luxanna behind her, whispering "I told you so," to someone in a teasing manner.

"I expected you to keep in communication with Demacia," Jarvan said.

Quinn nodded again, this time more slowly. "I ran into some dangerous enemies and couldn't spare Valor."

"And you're in the League now," Jarvan stated.

Quinn tensed, but remained silent.

"Why?"

"Sir – it wasn't intentional on my part. The door, it – it," Quinn shook her head. "I didn't want it to open, I was just passing time while I was recovering in town."

"Interesting pastime," Garen noted under his breath, but loud enough for almost the entire table to hear.

Quinn pointedly ignored his existence.

"I'm conflicted," Jarvan said, his words giving Quinn a terribly sinking feeling inside the pit of her stomach. "You put us in a difficult position, so I need to ask you one question. Quinn Attridge, where does your loyalty lie?"

It might have been just her, but it seemed at that very moment, everyone in the room stopped breathing. For a Demacian, the answer was second nature. There should be no hesitation, nor a single second of silence. Quinn knew the answer, yet she couldn't bring herself to say it. She lied all the time, and it never bothered her, so why couldn't she lie now, and avoid so many problems? It had nothing to do with pride, but maybe her anger had finally reached a breaking point. She couldn't say Demacia, because it had tried to kill her time and time again, and in return she got nothing.

That wasn't to say some other kingdom had earned her loyalty. Despite her friends in Ionia, she cared little for the kingdom. If Ionia ceased to exist, but not a blade of grass in the village changed, she would be content.

"My loyalty lies with my friends," Quinn said, her voice strong and sure.

The response was immediate. Garen slammed his right hand on the table, sending a resonating boom throughout the room. A few people gasped, and out of the corner of her eye, Quinn saw Luxanna move to stand up, only for Sona Buvelle to quickly clasp a hand on her shoulder.

Jarvan looked away, trying and failing to hide a frown.

"And what of Demacia?" he asked, clearly trying to give her a second chance.

Quinn had already chosen her path. "Is Demacia my friend?"

"Demacia is your home kingdom."

"So it is."

Jarvan nodded. "Then you will have the opportunity to prove your fealty to your kingdom. My father isn't yet aware of this – this situation, yet. We shall inform him and wait for a response on the matter of your courts-martial." He whispered something unheard to Garen, who shook his head in response. "In the meantime, we have a meeting on the Summoner's Rift tomorrow. Lady Shauna, you will sit this one out."

Vayne straightened slightly at being addressed by the prince. She gave a curt nod before turning to Quinn, looking annoyed and perhaps a little curious. Her focus wasn't as sharp as one might have expected from a demon hunter, and there were noticeable bags under her eyes, as though she'd only gotten a few hours of sleep recently. Quinn pretended not to notice her stare, and focused on Jarvan.

"Your death certificate will be revoked, as soon as we send message back to the capital. We'll need your signature for that, but it can wait until later. As for your living situation, we have an unused house next to Lady Laurent." Fiora shot the prince an undisguised look of disapproval. "Unless you have a preference for lodgings?"

"Actually, sir, I have a room in town." A lie, but it could be mended within the hour.

"A temporary place, I presume?"

Quinn hesitated. "Yes," she finally said, knowing a negative wouldn't have been believed.

"We do have some empty plots, should you want to design your own quarters." Garen snorted, and Quinn felt as if she were missing something. Jarvan turned to address the table. "You are all dismissed, I have further matters to discuss with our ranger, in private."

Slowly, everyone shuffled out of the building. Shauna passed close by and for a second Quinn thought she would speak, but her slouch posture continued, until she left the headquarters and was out of sight. The Crownguards were the last to leave. Garen looked as though he wanted to say something to her, too, but remained silent as he exited. Finally, the door closed and only her and the prince remained.

Jarvan rose from the head chair, bringing himself around to lean against the table nearest to Quinn in a more casual, friendly manner. For a second, Quinn could imagine they were back in Demacia, having returned from a week long mission and discussing the intelligence reports that had piled in the meantime.

"Is Valor all right?" he asked.

"He's hunting."

"And you?"

"Sir?"

"Are you alright? I was worried something might have actually happened."

Quinn was surprised with the lack of guilt she felt. At one point in time, she had greatly admired the prince and dedicated herself to her work to prove herself to him. Now, she couldn't even say if she trusted him. No, maybe that was too rash. She trusted him. It was the other nobles of Demacia she had to keep an eye out for. Fiora had seemed particularly displeased by her arrival.

"I'm fine."

"Good, good," he said before hesitating. "What you said, about testing the Door to pass time, that's not true, is it?"

Quinn bit her tongue.

"And what enemies did you run into, that you couldn't send Valor with a message to at least tell me you were okay?"

More silence.

"If you didn't want to talk openly because of the other champions – if there's anything you want to say, anything at all..."

She could tell him about Du Couteau, but what would happen then? The prince would, naturally, declare him an enemy and send out scouts and assassins to stop him - and that was assuming Jarvan believed her. While she wasn't sold on the Noxian's words, he had piqued her curiosity, and sending Demacia after him didn't seem like the right decision at the moment.

Quinn shook her head, even as she was second guessing her silence.

"I see." He sounded disappointed, as though he should have warranted more from Quinn, as if she could tell him everything. Crossing his arms, Jarvan sighed. "Are you not curious, then, of your assassin? You left Demacia in a hurry. Before investigations could even get underway."

Quinn regarded him carefully. She didn't care, she told herself, as she did every night in the first week since she'd left the capital. An assassin was an assassin, nothing would change that.

"Rest assured," the prince continued, "or perhaps not assured at all – we weren't able to link him to anyone. His name was Barker. He made a few hits around the city before, but never before such an important target as yourself."

"So that's it?" Quinn asked, bitterness not withheld. "I think I would rather not have been reminded."

"Was that not the reason you're declining a house on our avenue?"

"Neither me nor Val would be comfortable living in the middle of the city. The forest is to the south, so that's where we'll be."

Jarvan crossed his arms. "I wish you would be a little more cooperative."

Quinn wasn't about to make any concessions. She had no reason to.

Just as she was preparing to excuse herself from the building silence, Jarvan looked up.

"You may go. We're on the Rift at exactly noon tomorrow. Show up at eleven. This conversation can continue later – we still don't know my father's decision regarding your quick disappearance from the capital and then reappearance in the League."

Quinn nodded.

Maybe she was afraid of burning her bridges to Demacia, but Quinn felt as though she needed to offer something to Jarvan, in hopes of establishing an understanding, no matter how weak. After all, they had been close at one point in time. He had been her first friend and ally in the world, since running away from home all those years ago.

"No love is lost between me and them," Quinn said, referring to the other Demacians in the League. "I wouldn't be happy living here, and neither would they. You understand that, don't you?"

Not wanting to hear a response, her feet carried her quickly out of the building.

* * *

Clouds moving in from the north indicated an impending rain, and Quinn looked about the street hopelessly. She needed a place to stay, some food, and then new armor and weapons. The armor and weapons could wait until tomorrow morning, but the food – she was starving. To confirm her thoughts, her stomach gave a candid grumble. Food was first on the list, and unless Valor swooped in with a vole or other fresh meat, she would have to fend for herself. Actually, even if Valor did bring her food, she couldn't simply start a fire in the middle of the city. Quinn turned to give the headquarters cabin one last glance. No treason, she chided herself.

And as before, she only made it five steps before a hand came down on her shoulder. This time, she didn't react, not even to break stride. Luxanna, taken aback by the lack of response, did her best to match Quinn's pace.

The mage's abuse of light magic to stalk her really ticked Quinn off, but she kept it to herself. Already, she'd been quite rude to Luxanna, and as a Demacian, it was dangerous to disrespect superiors. She was already in for some sort of punishment from the king, so keeping quiet and laying low would be the best strategy. Besides, that was what she excelled at.

"What do you want?" Quinn said, picking a road that would hopefully lead to the inner commercial district.

"Well, you could start by being a little happier."

Quinn took a deep breath. The forest was much easier to handle than people. "My apologies, major. I've had a long week and the exhaustion is catching up to me."

"I said happier, not politer," Luxanna said, practically skipping to keep up with her.

"You don't ask for much, do you?" Quinn growled.

Luxanna slowed down, now walking in line behind Quinn. "Is it really that much?"

The question, as Quinn interpreted it, was much too personal. Instead, she offered silence as her eyes scanned the roads, picking ones at random in hopes of making it out of the mess of buildings. A few minutes later, she left through the upper gates, the telltale sound of Luxanna's steps still behind her.

"Is my happiness all you wanted?" Quinn said, voice laced with sarcasm.

"I'm not Nocturne," Luxanna whined, catching herself a second later when Quinn gave turned her head back to give the girl a blank look. "Evil champion, makes nightmares. Anyways, quit making it sound like I'm sucking all your happiness away."

Quinn turned back before smirking. "Maybe you are."

To Luxanna, the statement probably meant nothing, but to Quinn, there was truth behind it. Magic was generally incomprehensible, but that didn't mean she could ignore it. Since she had arrived within a kilometer of the capital, she could begin to feel it. A massive collection of magic, like a thick smog hanging indefinitely over the city. She could sense it even now, and she could begin to pick it apart and analyze it. Most of it was from new Summoners and other magic users who were only beginning to learn their magic. Controlling magic was supposedly hard to do, and for beginners, it often escaped their grasps and leaked into the atmosphere. This magic was disorganized and lawless, and if she tried to make sense of it in her mind, Quinn would only feel sick. Combining the useless clutter with actual magic that had remained in the air for days after its spell was cast, the city seemed to have another layer of chaos to it, aside from the millions of people going about their business.

She could sense Luxanna's magic behind her, somewhat distinct from the rest. It was gentle and much sparser. If she didn't pay attention, it would slip away from her. Luxanna's magic wasn't as suffocating as others, but rather it felt slow, unwilling to approach Quinn. Maybe it was patient? Either way, Quinn found it odd that she could only sense it when Luxanna was visible. Twice, the girl had managed to sneak up on Quinn without making a sound and without letting her magic – which was cloaking her body – be detected. An amazing power, and a dangerous one.

And then Quinn gave up, letting the magic of the city drop to the back of her mind. Ever present, but no longer capable of taking up her every thoughts. Eventually, she would grow use to it. A couple more days in the city and she would hardly realize there was magic infecting every single object around her. It had happened during her short stay in the Demacian capital. Of course, she could regain such a sensitivity to magic by spending another few months in the forest.

"So what did you want? Why are you following me?" Quinn said.

Luxanna smiled, or at least Quinn, without turning around, assumed she did. "Didn't I say? I want to be friends."

"Is that it?"

"Well, no," the mage answered after a short silence. "There's one more thing."

"And that is?"

"Here." Before Quinn could react, Luxanna had grabbed her left hand and began dragging her towards a nearby building.

"Hey!" Quinn shouted, resisting for a moment before realizing it was futile. Something like this had happened before, hadn't it? It wasn't very ladylike of Luxanna, but maybe that was why Quinn didn't mind so much. The girl seemed so much more distant from what Quinn expected of a Demacian noble, especially at times like these. Was it perhaps not such a silly notion, to befriend her?

When Quinn noticed they were making a beeline for a restaurant, she picked up her pace even more, so Luxanna no longer had to pull her along. The thought of food effectively shut down any and all complaints she had. As Luxanna led her inside, the smell of stir-fried noodles immediately caught her attention. The smell was so intoxicating that before she'd even taken in the room, she was licking her chops.

It took her a moment to realize Luxanna was still holding her hand. The girl's hands were soft - pleasant, but unfamiliar and distracting. She never had much human contact before. Even when she had been on good terms with her family, they had never been very touchy-feely. Quinn pulled her hand away.

Her eyes adjusted to the room a second later. It was slightly darker than outside, being lit by only a few ceiling lights that clearly lacked brightness that magic usually granted. Immediately, Quinn loved the place. From the outside, it looked like a small hole in the wall, but the inside was a larger, open space. A few tables – made of spruce and seemingly fashioned by hand rather than magic – were organized across the wooden floor and the place was relatively void of people. The walls had vines climbing up them and into the rafters above. Some vines were flowering red, others had nasty looking thorns on them. All of them Quinn failed to recognize by name. A few leafier ones she thought she had seen before, but most looked like they came from south of the Great Barrier. Maybe even a few from Bilgewater.

Beyond the front counters, Quinn could see the kitchen. Large pans of noodles sizzling over the stoves, a chef grabbing colorful spices off a rack that reached up to the ceiling, casually adding them to the noodles as smoke began to fill the air. Luxanna stepped forward and a waitress immediately appeared and curtsied. Apparently, Luxanna was a regular at the place.

They were seated quickly, and before Quinn could even think to ask why Luxanna dragged her in here, the mage spoke.

"I have a confession to make."


	10. The Rift Between Them

Luxanna was seated across from her, hands resting flat on the table as if to keep herself calm and in control. Her features were partially hidden by the restaurant's weak lighting, and Quinn – only half sitting on her seat and ready to bolt at a moment's notice – examined the girl cautiously. Since it was Luxanna, the confession had to be something insane. Two thoughts jumped to mind, neither the least bit reasonable, and thus fitting the bill nicely. Either it was a love confession, or she was going to confess to hiring an assassin to kill Quinn.

Despite trying to appear calm, the girl before her was no longer smiling, and instead, she was showing signs of nervousness that Quinn hadn't ever imagined she would see on the girl's face. Her gaze was strong, her eyebrows arched as she watched Quinn carefully, as though searching for a reaction before she had even said her part. Her hair, brilliant gold and just a little unkempt, reached past her shoulders – a length Quinn never allowed her own to reach, lest it detract from her combat abilities.

Sometimes, Quinn wondered about how different people could see the world so differently. There was no reason for Luxanna to be nervous – she was a powerful, respected mage. And without enemies, there was no reason to be afraid. It took a moment for Quinn to realize it, but it bothered her. She didn't like how something could diminish Luxanna.

After a moment's deliberation, Quinn decided to head it off, before it was too late and she got swept up in something unpleasant. "Is this something you can just not tell me?"

Luxanna hesitated. "No. I think I need to say it."

Quinn forced a laugh, but it came out hollow and lifeless. "How bad can it be? It's not like you're confessing to murder, right? Don't worry about it."

The girl looked away momentarily, her eyes seemingly resting on something interesting, near the far wall. "Maybe you're right. Let's order and eat first."

Quinn didn't bother arguing – she was hungry enough that she didn't want to risk upsetting her appetite when Luxanna finally spoke her confession. The two girls silently picked up their menus, and a few minutes passed before Quinn finally relaxed. Luxanna was silent – that was a good thing, right?

The waiter arrived, bowing to Luxanna, and after a quick scrutiny, to Quinn too. He was quiet mannered, fitting the atmosphere of the restaurant nicely, and lingered a moment after taking their orders of pasta, noodles, and salad. Luxanna had to clear her throat to wake him from his reverie, and he quickly scurried away.

"You know him?" Quinn asked, surprising herself. She wasn't one for conversation, and she really didn't care. There was the frightening possibility that she was somehow comfortable enough to make small talk, but she pushed the thought away, focusing her attention on the girl in front of her.

"Not really," she said. "He seems to be my waiter every time I'm here – weird, huh?"

Quinn looked at her doubtfully. "Is it? You saw the way he was looking at you, and I don't think it was because of the extra spicy pepper sauce you ordered with your pasta."

Luxanna threw her head back, trying to catch sight of the waiter who was already long gone. "He was looking at me? You sure?"

"He sure wasn't looking at me."

"So, where did you go, the month you were gone?"

The conversation so suddenly changing directions made Quinn pause to think.

"Hunting Noxians," she said slowly.

"The entire time?"

"Yes."

"Why did you leave without saying goodbye to me?"

"Why would I?"

Luxanna hummed, seemingly unperturbed. "Where's Valor?"

"Hunting."

"I guess he really doesn't like the city," she said, tapping her chin idly. "Oh, did you hear about the Passengers?"

"I did."

"What's your favorite color?"

"Fe- wait, what? None of your business."

Luxanna laughed. "It was worth a shot. You were only giving me one or two word answers. Has anyone ever told you that you suck at conversation?"

The words had meant to be playful, Quinn knew, but they still stabbed at her heart in a completely unsuspecting way. She hadn't apparently changed the least in seven years, if both her brother and Luxanna were able to make the exact same comment. She had moved past the grieving, or so she had thought. It angered her, that such an innocent question could stir her emotions up.

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"It's fine," Quinn interrupted, deciding to answer the rhetorical question. "And yes, I've been told that before, though it was a long time ago."

"Oh." Luxanna picked up the salt shaker, turning the glass bottle around as though infatuated by the small crystals. "So... have you heard from Karma yet?"

Again, a different topic. Quinn didn't mind that their conversation had no flow to it, but she wondered if that was par for the mage.

"Karma? The Duchess of Ionia? Why would she contact me?" Quinn said, reluctant that Luxanna had managed to pique her curiosity.

Luxanna gave a teasing smile. "Oh, well that's a secret, then."

Quinn balled her fists, a little surprised she hadn't seen the refusal coming.

The fact that Ionia might have had something to say to her was disquieting. Had they discovered her influence in the region, during the Noxus invasion? She had been under Demacian orders then, and had only helped the besieged kingdom. There was nothing she had done to be ashamed of, but the idea of any form of government wanting to communicate with her brought nothing but bad expectations.

"What does she want?" Quinn asked more forcefully. "Tell me."

"Nope," Luxanna said, shaking her head with apparent delight at having fully captured Quinn's attention. "You'll find out soon enough."

"Fine." She wouldn't play the childish game Luxanna was trying to implicate her in.

"Hey Quinn," Luxanna said, a second after she must have realized Quinn had already given up.

Quinn braced herself for the question, knowing she wouldn't be able to guess it if given a million chances.

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me what happened?" the mage whispered. "Back in the capital?"

"You mean the assassin," Quinn said after a short pause.

Luxanna gave her a concerned nod.

"There's not much to say. He was loud and woke me up before he could off me. I turned his knife on him, and that was it."

"That was it?"

Quinn nodded. It had been a little lie, that the assassin had woke her, but she wasn't going to be completely honest until Luxanna was cleared of having hired the assassin – something not likely to happen.

"Listen," Luxanna said, fiddling with a lock of hair between her fingers. "I know you think Garen had some part to play in it – and I know I'm his sister so you think I would defend him no matter what – and I know you probably don't really value my word – and, and I know it's probably none of my business – but I just wanted to say, I don't think Garen had anything to do with it. He can be a little hard-headed and devoted to his kingdom-"

"Sounds like someone else I know."

"Quinn!" Luxanna whined, locking her lips together in a pout that Quinn found rather entertaining. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Serious doesn't suit you," Quinn said, recognizing how true it was only after she'd said it.

"I did my own investigation," Luxanna said, an intensity showing in her eyes that hadn't been there a moment earlier. "I really don't think Garen could have been involved, even if he doesn't approve of you!"

"Fine, fine," Quinn said, bringing her hands up defensively. Dropping them back down to the table, she sighed. Hearing someone else say the words wasn't as easy as she expected, and the food was taking too long. Her mood was beginning to sour. "A vote of confidence for your brother. I'll keep it in mind, when I'm exacting my revenge."

"Revenge," Luxanna repeated, more subdued. It seemed to be half question and half disappointment.

"Relax. I wasn't really serious. I don't think it's likely I'll ever get the opportunity."

That was not to mention that Quinn wasn't entirely enthusiastic about it. She'd rather forget it, and go somewhere far away, where she wouldn't ever need to think about it again. Somewhere assassins wouldn't bother hunt her down. Of course, Heiwa village was the perfect place. Why was she delaying? Clearly everything was Valor's fault. Quinn resolved to have a stern talking to with him. League contract or no, it just wasn't feasible to stay sane in such a place for long.

* * *

The waiter distributed the plates of food on their table, and both girls watched him as he left – but not before he gave Luxanna an unbidden smile.

"Yeah," Quinn said, feeling like a gossiping teenage girl, "he likes you."

"I think you're right," Luxanna said, cradling her head in her hands. "And I liked this place, too."

"What?"

"I can't lead him on," she said, picking up her fork and stabbing a noodle with surprising force. "So I can't really come back here, can I?"

"You can't lead him on, you say, but you don't even know him." Quinn frowned. "How do you know he's not worth a shot? Are commoners not good enough for you?"

It was a silly question. Luxanna was a Demacian noble, of course she couldn't go around dating men below her status. Despite this, Quinn wanted to hear otherwise. In her mind, she had set Luxanna up as someone who didn't care about status. Her rebelliousness in the face of the army, her curiosity, and her unpredictability had led Quinn to think of her as – well – not a noble. Certainly not a commoner either – Luxanna was too beautiful and refined, at times, to be classified as low status. What exactly was Luxanna, to Quinn?

A mystery, who claimed she wanted to be Quinn's friend?

"Commoners are plenty good," Luxanna said, their eyes meeting for the shortest of moments. "But he just doesn't interest me."

A mystery, but one that hadn't betrayed Quinn's expectations. Satisfied, Quinn began eating her meal.

* * *

"By the way," Luxanna said, breaking the silence as Quinn started on her salad. "I'm sorry for not helping you out at your introduction this morning. Usually it's something a little less – less melodramatic, but people are always eager to test the newbies. For every new member of the League, the older members lose a little power in deciding things. They lose fame, and importance, and most don't like it. We're an odd bunch, if you hadn't figured that out for yourself already. But, all things considered, you fared well."

"Uh – thanks?"

Quinn poked at a leaf of lettuce on her plate. It took conscious effort not to use her fingers to pick it apart and eat it, and she wished she had requested no salad dressing. The taste was a little unsettling. The forest would be disappointed in her, if it could see her now.

"I'm serious," Luxanna said, setting her fork down as if to emphasize her words. "You had a large crowd and you managed to make Sivir look bad. Not anyone could do that."

"I said serious doesn't suit you. And speaking of large crowd," Quinn said with a frown, "why are there so many champions in town? I was under the impression that it was more of a come-and-go kind of deal."

Luxanna looked at her incredulously. "You don't know?"

Quinn shook her head. Being annoyed with the girl was a hopeless affair. She would be better off letting the conversation play itself out.

"It's the week of the Piltover-Zaun trades agreement. They remake it every five years and it's kind of a big deal. I mean, they're so close geographically, yet their cultures are completely different. Decisions need to be made on every tiny thing or you end up seeing some of the yuckiness of Zaun oozing into Piltover, or even scarier, some of Piltover's technology in Zaun labs."

* * *

Aside from the dangerous, unpredictable girl across from her, Quinn was content. She had nearly died three times in the past months, but she had survived, becoming stronger and learning more about her limits each time – if that couldn't make her happy, what would? There was always the gray clouds of Demacia and betrayal hanging over her head, but they didn't seem quite so terrible, at the moment. Whatever punishment the king sought to exact on her, she could handle it, either by buckling down or disappearing.

Quinn ate another mouthful of salad. The magic inside the restaurant wasn't too strong, as though the restaurant's entrance acted as a filter, and only a marginal amount of the city's stink could reach her inside. She assumed blocking magic was possible, but how would it be done? By magic? That seemed a little counterproductive.

If Quinn focused hard enough, she could feel an ethereal warmth on her hands. If it wasn't her imagination, then it was most certainly coming from the 'Lady of Luminosity', who really wasn't all that ladylike. Quinn pulled back her hands, watching the mage who slurped up her noodles seemingly without a worry in the world. Over the course of the meal, Quinn had kept one eye on the door, watching the people who came and left, but now she devoted her attention to Luxanna. It was time to hear why the girl had dragged her inside the restaurant. Quinn sat a little taller in her chair and set her fork aside.

"All right, she said after a deep breath. "Spit it out."

"Not the noodles!?" Luxanna managed to say with a mouthful.

Quinn crossed her arms, not bothering to dignify the question with a response. Luxanna hurried to clear her mouth.

"Okay," she said quieter. "I want to preface this by saying it was a complete accident and I'm sorry and I'll do anything to make it up to you."

Anything, Quinn thought? She somehow doubted it.

"The truth is, I saw your interview."

"My interview?" Quinn felt a wave of relief. It was something innocent, so why was Luxanna making a big deal about it? "That's-"

Quinn choked on her words mid mid sentence as the full implications hit her. The interview she had intended on failing. She had been playing with Valor, a sight she never even wanted to show a single person, and now two had seen.

Quinn dropped her head into her hands with a groan. Whether or not she had an image to protect didn't matter – it was simply embarrassing for someone to see her playing with Valor.

"I – I saw your garden," Luxanna continued in a whisper. "I'm sorry! I really, really, _really_ am. I just so happened to be on the fourth floor of the main building hunting for some archived documents and I looked out the window and there you were and I thought you had died but you were alive so I couldn't look away and I know I really should have but I swear I didn't hear anything either you or Vessaria said and speaking of which I can't believe Vessaria actually conducted the interview that was really weird you must have impressed her somehow at the Door but that's not the point, the point is, I'm sorry!"

At some point during Luxanna's apology, Quinn had sunk a little further in her chair. She argued with herself that Luxanna was practically a stranger, it didn't matter what she saw. It wasn't altogether that embarrassing. She handled life or death battles with otherworldly beings, so why would she be embarrassed about someone seeing her play? The logic was sound, but that didn't stop her ears from reddening and a blush appearing on her cheeks. She waited a couple minutes, before feeling up to the task of talking again.

"You – you said you would do anything to make things better?"

"Yes! I'm sorry. Really, really, I am," Luxanna stressed.

"Fine," Quinn said, still not willing to look at the girl. She dismissed a few ideas of demands, ones that simply weren't practical. "Then I want you to never speak of this to anyone, ever. And don't talk to me either. Just leave me alone."

Cautiously, Quinn removed a finger from her face to catch a glimpse of Luxanna. She wore a loose fitting purple cloak, her long blond hair tied back and hidden beneath the cloak. Her pale face regarded Quinn nervously as she twiddled with her fingers.

"Uh – about that." She let out a nervous little laugh. "Funny thing. You see, tomorrow we're laning together."

Laning? For some reason, the word sounded oddly intimate. Quinn shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

"Oh," she uttered aloud, as if it were an appropriate response.

Luxanna leaned forward, a little more relaxed. "Is that all you have to say?" She seemed happy at the thought, but just as quickly, the smile disappeared and she frowned. "You _do_ know what I'm talking about, right?"

It was Quinn's turn to fidget nervously, her momentum lost. "Uh – well – by that you mean... that – uh – no. No. I have no clue what you're talking about."

"Dear god," Luxanna whispered to herself, "this is going to be a bloodbath."

By the end of the meal, Luxanna had explained their upcoming battle on the Summoner's Rift, and Quinn had retracted her demand to be left alone – it had been a spur of the moment decision, and anyways, they were both Demacians, their paths would likely cross again in the future.

Luxanna had also once again proved to Quinn how ruthlessly cunning she could be. Their last meal together, back in Demacia, had been paid for by Luxanna, so Quinn intended on paying this time, and settling the debt. It wasn't to be, however. Luxanna had apparently already paid, after she'd confessed to spying on Quinn's interview process, during the time when Quinn had been recovering from the embarrassment with her head in her hands. As it was now, Quinn was condemned to paying the girl back two meals. This fact, however, was pushed into the back of her mind. She was now entirely focused on their upcoming battle tomorrow.

Having finished the meal and escaped Luxanna's company, Quinn started forth into the depths of the city. The sun was setting, and she needed a place to sleep. It would be the forest for the night, she decided. The commute would be nearly an hour, from the forest outside the city and beyond the farmlands, all the way to the Institute of War, but she didn't mind.

The next day, Quinn learned what the Rift really was.

* * *

She stumbled off the platform, ears ringing and stomach in turmoil. Her eyes scanned the room, glossing over Suuntaava, which rotated slowly on its pedestal. There was only one door out of the place. She knew that from before, but it had temporarily escaped her memory. She made towards it, but her feet were unwilling, and she stumbled and was forced to slow down her pace. She could hear celebratory voices behind her, but she paid them no heed. They weren't important to her. Her goal was to find the bathroom.

A voice called out to her – at least she thought, but she couldn't be sure. She couldn't be sure of anything, so she ignored it. Moving through the large stone doorway, visions came back to her in sudden flashes that temporarily blinded her.

_A massive axe cut through her aura, not stopping as it tore through her skin in an instant. Her arm dropped to the ground. Blood was everywhere and pain debilitating. She tried to run from the monster, her focus no longer on her crossbow or the skirmish in the distance. Where had Luxanna went? It didn't matter, she had to rely on herself now, as always. The giant hulking aberration's red eyes looked away and he lumbered off towards something out of her sight._

_She felt a moment of relief. A chance at survival if she could return to the magical fountain to heal her and dull the crippling pain. The moment of hope instantly died as the air in front of her shimmered and a festering rat standing on two feet appeared, shooting a metal bolt through her heart. And then the pain stopped. Her body ceased to exist, as far as her mind could comprehend it. In the Void, she wondered? No, not likely. The thought – the realization – that she had just died left her mind completely shocked and numbed._

Quinn had died. She had been killed, but that hadn't been the end.

Growing up in Everridge, her parents had been careful to teach her about the dangers of the world, and how death was an absolute end to everything. She was made aware of the dangers of the cliffs and monsters in the forests surrounding the village, and the danger of the farm tools they used on a daily basis. They were normal children, her mother had said. They couldn't pull off any of the feats seen on their favorite shows on the old television set, because they were young and had no magic. Quinn and Caleb had to watch out for each other. They had to be careful. That was why her mother had blamed her for Caleb's death. It had been an accident – one that could have been avoided if they had been more careful. Quinn had carried those lessons with her after she'd ran away, and it had shaped her. The forest commanded respect, and though she had spent nearly every waking hour in it, she had never grown lax.

Despite all that, they had both died, yet she was the only one who came back. The Summoner's Rift, and its magic, was a powerful and terrifying thing, but most of all, it seemed completely unfair, taking into account the rest of the world.

No, it didn't _seem_ unfair. It _was_ unfair. She could die, die, and die again in battle and she would keep coming back. Before the League of Legends had created the Fields of Justice, it didn't work like that. Soldiers had only a single life – or so they desperately hoped. If they were given a second life, it meant a Noxian or Zaunite had taken their body and performed nasty experiments on them, giving them a false, zombie-like existence. Or – equally as bad – a Passenger had infected them.

Completely ignorant, Quinn had spent years roaming the forests of Noxus and Ionia, all the while champions of the League had been laughing in the face of death.

Her hatred for Summoners, and for magic, only grew stronger. They sat within their castle walls, protected by guards day and night, where they studied and practiced their powers. And then, when they were deemed strong enough – sufficiently in control of their magic – what did they do? They used it for political _games_. They used it so Noxus, Ionia, and Demacia could relentlessly attack each other within any consequences, publicized for the entertainment of the rich and nobles around the world, and quenching the thirst of the manic for bloodshed.

Had they been so far indoctrinated, not to realize what their powers could accomplish? Everything they could fix, and all the good they could do in the world? While countless people died of disease, old age, and monsters around Valoran every day, they enjoyed their grassy fields and cool libraries without the least bit of shame.

_The relentless attacks continued, the intent to kill that Quinn had only seen in a handful of people before. Birds were set upon her by the Noxian Grand General. She tried to bat them away and to shoot bolts at them, but it was no use. For every one she killed, three more took its place. Eventually, she was overwhelmed. She could hear Luxanna screaming and then there was light, and a temporary relief, a numbing of the agony, but it was short lived. Too short lived. Before she could even process it, her aura shattered and their beaks teared her apart like she was but a measly mouse. In the last moments of her life, she could hear laughter._

She had been through hell and hadn't survived. Losing count of her deaths after the fifth time, she had taken to the jungle. A place which any real forester would laugh if she tried to compare to a real forest. The wide paths leading through the jungle left her feeling vulnerable and the trees were barely thrice her height. It was only marginally better in the forests than in the lanes and around the massive stone towers. Within the trees, it took them longer to find her. Not much longer, but enough that she could begin to think she had a bearing on the situation. And then Twitch would appear, wandering the jungle looking for his prey.

Quinn stopped at an intersection in the hallway, swinging her head side to side and causing the world to spin. She lurched down the right corridor, running into the wall and then dragging herself along it until she reached the bathrooms. Her mind wouldn't stop thinking, when she wanted nothing more than to collapse. The Rift had been too much stimulation, and her deaths too incomprehensible, and she didn't want to think about it but she couldn't not, causing her headache to quickly worsen. She wanted to forget the nightmare, to regain a little of herself – but at the same time she was afraid she'd been permanently changed, as though the Rift had ripped into her and taken a part of herself for its own, nefarious purposes. Had she really escaped, or was it all a dream? Maybe the Rift had claimed her, and she was forever doomed to be its slave.

Before she knew it, she was kneeling over a toilet in a bathroom stall. A few seconds passed as her breathing slowed. No longer hyperventilating, she still felt sick, as though her stomach was being used as a cauldron to brew poison.

_She moved and the knife innocently whistled past her. Only a second later did she realize she had been hit by a different one. She pushed the unpleasant piece of information away and fired another bolt at Katarina, whose aura absorbed it like it had been made of paper. And then Katarina, moving at an alarmingly fast speed, started running at her, throwing more knives than she could count. Ten, fifty, one hundred? They cut her in the blink of an eye, leaving countless thin cuts all over her body that stung but refused to bleed. And then her aura shattered, leaving the following knives to cut directly at her heart._

She retched out her previous meal, her head pounding with blood. After a short pause, she puked again, forcing her eyes closed but quickly reopening them upon realizing closed eyes only helped bring about memories of the Rift. Sleep, something she desperately wanted, suddenly seemed ominous. It was no longer a friend she could rely on. She had none now, not even Valor could help her, being so far in the depths of the Institute of War.

After attempting a few calming breaths, Quinn became aware of someone standing behind her, carefully holding her hair back as she leaned over the toilet.

It took a few seconds to realize there was only one person who would be so nice, and a few more seconds to remember the name. It was only expected that Luxanna would follow her, to make sure she was okay. Quinn clenched her fists tightly and stood up, shrugging the girl's hands away. She had meant to lean against the wall, to regain her bearings so she wouldn't stumble, but before she knew it, Luxanna was the one stumbling, hitting the bathroom stall's door. The choice words Quinn had collected for the mage died on her tongue, and instead she looked at her sore and quickly reddening fist.

A little reluctantly, she looked back up to Luxanna, who was clutching her shoulder. The girl was blinking, eyes watering as she glared at Quinn, her mouth agape. She had the audacity to look betrayed.

Luxanna was a mage. A magic user, not so different from the Summoners of the world, but several magnitudes more powerful. Somehow, Quinn had forgotten it during the supper they shared last night. Luxanna was cunning, and she had been able to divert Quinn's attention from the truth. Mages lived completely different lives. Luxanna had power beyond Quinn's abilities, at the tip of her fingers.

Quinn hated mages, and meeting Luxanna had almost made her forget it.

"Go away, mage" Quinn snarled, punching the wall next to her and feeling it give in slightly. The loud bang echoed throughout the empty bathroom, and Luxanna, though she tried to hide it, flinched. "Your magic disgusts me – you disgust me. I don't want to see you again."

Luxanna stood up a little straighter, letting her arm drop uselessly from her shoulder.

"That's... I – I see," she whispered, eyes now locked on the ground. Without another word, she slowly backed out of the stall.

Quinn listened to her footsteps, which gradually picked up pace until she assumed Luxanna was running out of the bathroom.

She swore, cursing magic – cursing the Institute of War and the Summoner's Rift. Her anger might have been directed a little bit at herself too. She had been the one to leave Everridge, to join the army, and to get duped into entering the League of Legends. She'd made mistakes. She hadn't even meant to hit Luxanna. Her anger needed to be directed somewhere, and the mage proved too easy of a target. An unsuspecting, trusting target.

But Quinn had no magic, she reassured herself. Her mistakes, no matter how bad, were nothing compared to the mages of Valoran.

_It wasn't a projectile that flew towards her. It was raw magic, and it was unavoidable. It caught her feet, and for a second she thought it had failed, popped like a bubble and dissipated into nothingness, but then she tried to move. The dark, swirling magic didn't let her; it shackled her feet to the ground, not giving her so much as a centimeter. With this realization, she looked up. Twitch was loading his crossbow, and she thought she had a second to prepare, but magic yet again proved her wrong. The grass flooded, suddenly submerged as a dark liquid pool appeared beneath her feet. It burned at her shoes and her aura. She struggled against the dark bindings, but it was a futile effort. She was stuck in the pool, left to broil in liquid conjured from the darkest magic._

Quinn came to, collapsed in a heap against the bathroom wall. She lay there a moment, before remembering the match was over, and she wasn't about to be sent back into the fray.

Prior to arriving at the League, she had a vague understanding of how they worked, and she didn't like it. The Summoners used their powers to send champions to the Rift – supposedly in an alternate plane – where they could brutalize each other as much as they wanted, and the most vicious won, taking all the accompanying fame and predetermined political goodies. It was an abhorrent use of magic. Everyone in Everridge was of the same opinion. And when Quinn had ran away from home, travelling from village to village on her way to the coast, she had found others who agreed. In fact, every village had seemed of the same opinion, yet they were but commoners, and no amount of complaining would change anything. An uprising would be met with the unrestrained force of the Demacian army, and petitions would fall on the deaf ears of the nobles. When she had arrived in the capital, things were different. The champions were heroes, and they were celebrities. The Summoners were revered, and the children aspired to move to Senta and become the next High Summoner.

That was all before Quinn had experienced it firsthand.

Immortality was a very real thing, and Quinn had experienced it for a moment. Her heart had been physically destroyed by metal and magic, and she could _remember_ how it felt, to have the organ punctured, the arteries cut open, and her blood pour. She could remember, the moment she experienced death, and she could remember the darkness of an empty void – not the Void, or at least she didn't think – but a _void_ , where dead champions' subconsciouses bid their time before they could return.

And now, leaning over a toilet in a bathroom in the Institute of War in the largest city in the world, Quinn was mortal once again. If she died now, by making even the smallest of mistakes, it was all over for her. Nothingness awaited her. She would be erased, her body probably burned by magic and her name forgotten.

With a little effort, she managed to pull herself up and out of the stall. Behind her, the toilet flushed automagically.

Was death the ultimate enemy, or magic, she wondered? Somehow, Du Couteau came to mind. His answer, to fight death with magic, seemed to be the logical approach, but Quinn had no magic. In that regard, it was impossible for her to fight death, without aligning herself with someone like him, who claimed capable.

Quinn walked to the sink. There was a large mirror on the wall, but she didn't look. She wouldn't – she couldn't. It would only renew her anger, and she feared she might not like what she saw. Instead, she splashed water on her face. It refreshed her, but she didn't want to be refreshed. What did she want, Quinn wondered? She wanted out. She wanted to be gone. Back to Ionia, where all the nonsense of the world couldn't reach her.


	11. Tea

Quinn likened her experience on the Summoner's Rift to the first time she killed someone.

It had been a terrifying, all-consuming experience that had left her reeling. She had felt like the world was broken, and it wouldn't ever be right again and that she ought to quit trying. Losing sleep, she would see the dead man's eyes every time she closed her own, and it hadn't been just for one night, or two. It had been like that for weeks, and she had thought she would never recover, even with Valor tirelessly supporting her.

It was an abhorrent thing to do, to take another person's life.

Had she been justified in her actions? Absolutely not. She wasn't an omniscient god, who could tell whether the man had deserved to die. All she had had to go on were eyewitnesses – fallible, bitter people – and a bounty pinned to a bulletin board.

When she took the man's life, she had immediately regretted it and she had wished she had never left home, abandoning her life on the farm, a warm meal, and soft bed every night. The simple things she had forsaken had taunted her, while she was left with no other choice but to endure and adapt.

During that time, however, she hadn't thought to vow not to kill ever again, and two months later, she cashed in another bounty. The second time, it hadn't been as bad, and each subsequent time, she felt less disgust, and less remorse.

It might have been something serial killers thought, too. Killing became easier – maybe not easy, but it was something she could do and still be assured she would sleep at night.

Somehow, Quinn saw a similarity between that and the Summoner's Rift. Though she had only fought on it once, she had a feeling they were the same. It would be easier for her, if there was ever a next time, and eventually she would become like them – like the other champions.

A terrible thing would develop into an everyday occurrence which she wouldn't bat an eye at.

Quinn balled her fists, looking around for something to punch, and settling on a fence bordering the nearby farmland. It rattled in protest and a goat feeding nearby shied away from her.

The magic sickness Quinn had been predicting? It had arrived, and it had been ruthless. She had been hit full force with magic sickness after returning from the Summoner's Rift, and combined with the downright unpleasantness of everything, it had been worse than she'd ever experienced. It took her a full day of recovery before she was willing to return to the city.

Most of the previous day felt like a bad dream, and she couldn't remember much after the battle on the Rift. She could remember lashing out at Luxanna, for all the good that did. In fact, that was her strongest memory.

As for the actual match, on the Summoner's Rift – they were victorious, but not because of their strength and wit. They had won because Noxus hadn't let it be a battle. All the Noxian champions had spent the match hunting Quinn, leaving Jarvan IV and Garen free to destroy their Nexus from a northern attack route.

Somehow, during her sickness, Gerrit had caught her before she could leave town, holding an invitation from Karma for her. It was an invitation for afternoon tea, which in Quinn's state she hadn't quite been able to comprehend, but she also couldn't refuse. The Duchess of Ionia, in her mind, had seemed more important than the King of Demacia. So, despite everything, she had told Gerrit to accept the invitation on her behalf, and now she was paying for it.

When Quinn meandered into town, it was noon. She had washed her clothing in a nearby river, so she didn't smell of sweat from her sickness and long night of fitful rest and cruel dreams, but she still didn't feel clean and the city's atmosphere did nothing to help. Walking slowly through the streets, Quinn watched the people.

Over the course of her life, she had spent more hours deer watching than people watching, but she admitted that humans were much more interesting. Each and every one of them led a complex life and had their own dreams and ambitions, and Quinn would never know about them.

They didn't perk up their ears and raise their heads when they heard a sound, and they had nowhere to run when under threat. Instead, these people crowded themselves in a single place, in a small part of the world, to create their own community. It should have been uplifting, to think about it, but for Quinn, she could only think of it as foolish. Only so many people could find success in such a small area – the others would just wither and die, like a plant choked by weeds.

Valor was accompanying her for a short while, before her appointment with Karma. She could tell he wanted to be in the skies, but he also probably felt obligated to stay at her side, unsure of whether or not she had fully recovered from the battle on the Summoner's Rift and the magic sickness. Quinn knew he also stayed close to help ease her nerves. Their meeting was still over an hour away, yet she had trouble focusing on anything else.

Quinn pushed past a pair of Summoners who had stopped in the middle of the road, laughing and blind to the civilians around them. Seeing a mess of stalls against the backdrop of a giant stone wall, she assumed she had managed to drag herself to the inner market. After a brief hesitation, she delved forward into the crowd of shoppers.

The market was a step above the usual shops that layered the streets of Senta. Shops were stationary – sitting and aging in same spot, selling the same products, forever. The market consisted of hawkers and other nomadic peddlers, meaning their origins were from places scattered around Valoran and their goods couldn't be found anywhere else. Their business relied on quality and transportability, both of which Quinn considered of utmost importance. In the market, she felt a bit of comfort she hadn't expected. It was similar to the Demacian capital's market, which happened to be Quinn's favorite spot in the capital.

Markets attracted a different sort of crowd. The group of people who made their purchases in the market and set up their shops were the type of people who Quinn could best relate with. Their nomadic nature meant they weren't nobles, and they rarely cared about social etiquette. The quantity of magic users within this group was also much lower. Most magic users, no matter their type, had a school or organization in which they preferred to stay, to further refine their abilities and reputation.

The League had provided Quinn with an early payment for her first month of service, so she had set aside four months worth of wages for two farmhands, allocated some for emergency funds, and the rest she had pocketed, intending on spending in the market.

* * *

Senta had a unique urban design. It was roughly elliptical, the industrial district at the southern focal point, and the Institute of War at the northern focal point. Around the Institute of War, streets were paved and designated to the different kingdoms. Their geographical locations, relative to the institute, roughly corresponded to the kingdoms' actual locations on Valoran. Due to this design, which some councilman must have been quite proud of, Ionia avenue was surrounded by the smog of Zaun avenue to the north and the dark, uncomfortable atmosphere of Noxus avenue to the south. It was suffocating. The street made a valiant attempt not to be poisoned by its neighbours, but after walking past the homes of the Noxian champions and ambassadors, Quinn couldn't shake the growing discomfort.

Ionia avenue had cherry blossoms, making up a medley of pink colors, lining the road, and the architect was unmistakably Ionian, as if they had something to prove. Well, they probably did, Quinn admitted. They survived a Noxian invasion, and while the future was unsure, making a show of strength would be better than curling up and hiding.

Quinn stopped at a tree that caught her attention. It was taller than the rest and its branches more bountiful. It seemed almost uncanny how well shaped it was – starting from halfway up the tree, the branches jutted out at equal intervals and their petals looked fuller than the neighbouring trees. Each branch was important in contributing to the overall beauty of the tree, and Quinn couldn't believe it had grown naturally. It had to have been under the influence of magic, and carefully tended to over many years.

Approaching the tree, Quinn looked directly up. Countless petals blotted her view of the blue sky above. She inhaled deeply, appreciative of the clean air around the tree.

It brought her back to her time in Ionia, where the forests were calm and the air was pure. She remembered it as a simpler time. Her and Valor had been tracking Noxian movement throughout the kingdom, a trivial task when the forests were supposed to be untainted. Back then, the most difficult thing was perfecting an efficient communication system with Valor when they hadn't been working together for more than a year.

A light breeze passed by, bringing the northern taint. Quinn might have imagined it, but it seemed the lowest petals of the tree wilted a little, their colours paling.

"What do you think of it?" a gentle voice spoke once the breeze ended.

Quinn, caught unaware, turned. The speaker was standing next to her, having approached completely silently. She was nearly half a head shorter than Quinn and was garbed in green cloth of a style Quinn recognized as belonging to the Kinkou order. Quinn hesitated, realizing she was meeting face to face with one of the order's triumvirate – Akali.

She was holding a picnic basket but had an air of tension about her that most people wouldn't notice, as if ready to dodge a bullet at any second.

"The – the tree?" Quinn asked looking between the woman and the majestic tree.

Akali nodded, stepping closer and caressing the tree's bark as though it were a pet.

"It's... nice," Quinn ventured, again looking up at the petals.

When Quinn looked back, Akali was already sitting down, resting her back against the tree.

"That's it?" she said with a tone of disappointment.

Quinn hesitated, finding it difficult to meet eyes with the woman. "Well-"

"You missed seeing it bloom by two weeks," Akali said, her voice tired and wispy. She spoke slowly, and Quinn found herself relaxing despite the prospect of meeting with Karma, who was almost completely an unknown quantity of the League of Legends.

"Oh," Quinn said into the silence.

Akali seemed to have some unknown expectations of Quinn, which made conversation awkward and difficult.

At the moment, though, Akali seemed content to open her basket and begin sorting through its contents. Most of the food looked like small, bite sized pieces of meat. The meat was raw and unrecognizable, though she suspected it was fish. She had heard rice and fish prepared in a certain way was a popular meal in the Ionian capital.

A moment of quiet passed as Akali emptied the basket, evaluating each item before setting it on the grass. Just as Quinn was about to back away quietly and leave, assuming the conversation had ended without her realizing it, Akali spoke again.

"Don't worry about meeting with the Duchess. She can be... weird at times, but just keep your cool and try to stay grounded in the conversation."

Quinn frowned. "Grounded? What do you mean? And how'd you know I was meeting her?"

"Karma acts as the representative of Ionia in almost all international matters," Akali said without looking up. "Whenever a new champion joins the League, she extends an invitation to them. Even the ones from the Shadow Isles. For the most part, only Ionians, Piltovians, and the occasional Demacian accepts the offer, but it never stops her from trying. In fact, both Miss Fortune and Katarina accepted their offers. Katarina's was a little dicey and Karma always refuses to talk about it, but usually these affairs go well. Nothing much you can lose, right?"

Quinn nodded slowly. The mention of Katarina Du Couteau could only make her think about Katarina's father, and their mysterious meeting in the forest. She wanted, desperately, for him to be telling the truth, yet she couldn't imagine a grand reorganization of power, not without major support – yet who would support him? Mages were content with the status quo. They had no reason to want a redistribution of power – not when they held it all.

"But even though I say that," Akali continued, "you look as if you already lost. You don't want to go meet Karma looking so down. She'll take offense to it, even if she doesn't show it. So, what's wrong?"

Quinn let out a sigh that stretched longer than she intended. "Nothing, really. Nothing I can pinpoint. Maybe I could say magic is wrong?"

Akali nodded, surprising her. She had expected a blank look, which would let her laugh off what she had said as a joke. Instead, Akali looked thoughtful, and it was then that Quinn realized exactly _who_ she was talking to.

"But hasn't it always been wrong?" the ninja said. "The more powerful an existence, the harder it is to control. Since the runic revolution, magic has been the deciding factor in every aspect of history. Every artist, scientist, warrior, and politician has been shaped by magic. That's not going to change, so instead we try to balance it, so it doesn't destroy our world. For every Syndra in the world, we have a Lux. The good and evil balance, and when it doesn't, well, something like the Kinkou Order will come along to reset the scale."

"They balance? Seems like a fragile way to go about things."

Akali nodded. "Fragile, but that's just the nature of the world. Nothing lasts forever – impermanence, in the words of the Kinkou Order. By the way, I saw a bit of the match you participated in the other day – how was it?"

Quinn forced herself to remain stoic. "If you saw even a bit of it, then you'd know."

"And how was Lux?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, every time I mention her name, you look distressed."

Did she? Quinn hadn't realized. "You say she counteracts evil, but is that really true? What if she's another Syndra? How can we know?" _What if every mage is a Syndra, for that matter?_

Akali shook her head. "Two things. One, correct me if I'm wrong, but she requested you lane with her, that day."

Quinn actually didn't know. It had been told to her as a fact, which she'd never thought to question. Maybe because laning with a stranger would have been even less pleasant. They had fought before, against Thresh, so Luxanna's magic hadn't had too many surprises on the Rift.

Akali waited a moment for Quinn to refute her, before continuing. "That's because she's recognized you as a good person. Dark mages – or whatever you want to call them – as long as they have evil intentions, you don't expect them to approach you and ally themselves with you, do you? And two, because of what she did in Ionia."

"What she did do in Ionia?" Quinn asked, still thinking on Akali's first point.

"Not many people can be so completely blinded by their emotions and sense of justice," Akali said. "Do you really think Luxanna would be here, if she had a choice?"

Here? At the League of Legends, did she mean?

"But that's not for me to tell," Akali continued. "Ask Karma, or perhaps Lux herself. You won't be accusing her of being another Syndra, if you hear it."

Quinn's curiosity was sparked. Generally, she wasn't curious about people. Maybe it was because she knew Luxanna somewhat – despite only a few meals and battles together, Quinn could say she'd spent more time with Luxanna in the past year than nearly anyone else she knew – but Quinn wanted to hear the full story.

"If the tree is still alive next June, come by to see it blossom," Akali said, picking a clump of rice from her selection and taking a bite. She chewed for a moment before looking back up at Quinn. "Now, you should get going. Karma doesn't like it when people are late."

And that was a very clear dismissal, Quinn told herself as she quickly stepped back and away. She didn't quite know what to make of the invitation to see the tree blossom, but apparently she wasn't the only one who thought the tree was planted in a very precarious spot, between two unpleasant neighbours. Nonetheless, something that far in the future wasn't important enough to dwell on. Quinn took one last look at the tree before hurrying down the street, suddenly very aware of the time.

* * *

The house was a large, wooden, single floor building. It was elevated slightly off the ground, as if in preparation for the rain season. Quinn took the four steps up to the veranda slowly, feeling the nervousness, which Akali had dispelled, return. The architecture reminded her of the temples spread throughout Ionia, but it seemed more modern, as if the architects had been affected by the thousands of buildings surrounding the place already. The roof was brownish-red tiles and the eaves extended several meters beyond the wall, giving cover to the veranda that stretched along the front of the place and around the corners, looping around the entire building.

The door was open – or rather, there was no door. A section of the front wall appeared to be a sliding door, and it was open several meters already. Quinn approached, but refrained from knocking. The walls were paper-thin, possibly literally made of paper, as was common for Ionian homes. She looked around hopelessly for a doorbell before deciding to peek her head in and call out.

Within seconds, she could hear the shuffling of feet. A woman Quinn's age, in a flowing yukata of floral design and sandals, appeared. Her eyes took their time inspecting Quinn, before she gave a small bow, and stepped back.

"The Duchess will be with you shortly," she said, voice quivering at first before it grew confident. "Please remove your shoes and follow me to the tea foyer."

Quinn obeyed, slightly surprised that Karma hadn't been the one to greet her. She wasn't quite sure what the girl's role was – an assistant, a maid, or perhaps even royalty – but she disappeared as soon as Quinn seated herself on a cushion in the tea foyer. It was a sparsely decorated room, but open to a courtyard that was hidden away at the center of the house.

Looking out, Quinn could see a carefully manicured sand garden, large rocks positioned seemingly haphazardly throughout the neatly raked grains. There were tall reeds growing around the garden's border, obscuring what sounded like a creek running through the courtyard. In a far corner, there was a fountain. One bamboo pipe poured water into another, which slowly filled up and, when it reached a breaking point, tipped over, clacking against a rock and pouring out its water before returning to its original position, to repeat the action again and again. Quinn watched it for a minute, almost entranced by its simplicity.

She hadn't expected such a peaceful place to be possible, within the bustling city.

Karma arrived, taking a few paced steps forward before Quinn drew her attention away from the courtyard.

Every movement refined, her green kimono swayed in rhythm to her steps. The Duchess had a faint smile as she watched Quinn. Even if Quinn hadn't known Karma, the air of authority that enveloped her and formed her very being was only fitting of the Duchess in command of Ionia. Her brown hair was short, of a tomboyish length, but she wore makeup that dispelled any notion of her lacking in femininity. She had darker skin, unlike many Ionians, and Quinn was momentarily reminded of Sivir, despite how completely different the two women looked.

Quinn was sitting on one of the mats laid out at the table, and before she could think to stand, Karma had already arrived, and she made sitting look like an art. First, she knelt on the mat, bringing her hands to rest on either side of her, fingers flat on the cushion but wrists lifted slightly upwards. Adjusting her knees momentarily and keeping her back straight, she slowly lowered herself down until she was sitting on her legs. Despite her kimono being unruffled by her careful movements, she brought a hand over the cotton fabric, wiping at it to remove the non-existent wrinkles. Seemingly satisfied, she looked back up to Quinn, the smile on her face never vanishing.

Quinn felt a little accomplished at having at least properly positioned herself, if not with the grace of a duchess. If she had sat cross-legged, it would have been embarrassing.

"Quinn. I'm glad you could make it." Karma spoke quietly, as though they were in a library.

Quinn mirrored her tone. "Thank you for the invitation."

"I heard you fell ill."

"I'm better now," Quinn assured her. "Don't worry."

Karma nodded, seemingly satisfied with the response. "Before we get into things, any preference of tea?"

Quinn shook her head as the woman who first greeted her entered the room again, refreshments in hand. She set a plate of biscuits on the table, before placing a larger tray next to them.

"Thank you, Misa," Karma said to the woman.

Misa gave a quick curtsy before backing away and leaving the room in silence.

Quinn examined the tray left behind. There was a large teapot, presumably of hot water, and two empty tea cups. Alongside the cups were an array of jars containing an assortment of tea leaves. Most were green or brown in colour, but there was a red one whose leaves were so far crumbled it was almost dust, and a yellow one that, if Quinn looked very closely, appeared to be vibrating in its jar.

The tea wasn't made; it was apparently up to them to finish the task. Unsure of what to do, Quinn looked up at her host.

"There have been many people to see the inside of this room, Quinn. If you so desire, relax. I suspect you do not quite understand my expectations, but all I really want is to talk," Karma said. "A little chat, if you would."

"Okay," Quinn said, unsure of whether or not Karma's words helped settle her nervousness.

Karma nodded, still smiling.

"You said you have no preference?" she asked as she poured water into her cup.

Grabbing the middle jar, which contained smaller, crumbled green leaves, Karma filled an infuser – a little cage to submerge the leaves in the water – and lowered the contents into her cup.

Quinn nodded. "I don't drink tea too often."

In fact, aside from her time in Ionia, she never drank tea. It wasn't common in Demacia, and packing it during her travels would have been too much effort for too little reward. Because of this, her short stay in Heiwa village had been the only time she'd drank tea. They had only had one type, and she couldn't even remember what it was, despite knowing the flora and fauna of the region quite well.

"Well then," Karma said, watching her cup steep, "how about some tasseomancy with the Oolong leaves?"

"Tasseomancy?"

"Tea leaf reading," Karma explained. "Divination, if you would."

Magic. Instinctively, Quinn's first thought had been that Karma could become a good acquaintance of hers. The Duchess, despite being powerful, didn't make overt use of her magic. Her commanding presence was something formed more from her social expertise and comfort with her political power. If magical leaves was the most magic Quinn would be dealing with, then she was fine with it. She wasn't all that curious as to what her future held in store, but Karma seemed keen at the prospect of reading her fortune. The process would be more interesting than the result, and she also didn't like the idea of refusing the Duchess.

"Alright," Quinn said, suspecting she wasn't the first to hear those words.

"These leaves are cultivated in Ionia, exclusively in a small area on the Ocha mountain range," Karma said, peeling the lid off a can of green leaves which were thin and rolled like small bales of hay. "The plants are grown at elevations that exceed twenty-two hundred meters, lending the leaves a uniquely sweet taste. The tea is a light type, necessary for a proper reading, and, while it's not the most popular around, the flavour is generally more well received for those who do not drink often."

Karma poured a measured amount of water from the teapot into Quinn's cup. Rather than use an infuser, the leaves were ceremoniously sprinkled into the teacup, Karma's lips moving silently, as if chanting. The low surface tension of the hot liquid prevented the leaf fragments from floating, and they quickly sank to the bottom of the cup. Quinn watched as a thin layer of foam bubbled into existence, and just as quickly dissipate.

"Now, we let it steep for eight minutes."

Quinn raised a brow. Eight minutes seemed a little long.

"Ionian tasseomancy hasn't forgotten itself – trust me on this." She pushed the cup towards Quinn.

Their tea steeping, they fell into a momentary silence. Quinn could hear the trickling of water from outside, and she panicked a little.

_Has anyone ever told you that you suck at conversation?_

Remembering Luxanna's gentle, teasing voice stirred up an unfamiliar, frustrated feeling within Quinn. This frustration then reminded her of what Akali said – _distress_. Luxanna brought her distress – yes, that sounded about right, Quinn thought. If Luxanna hadn't been a mage, things would be different. Quinn would almost be able to say they were similar – both were assigned similar missions from the army and, from what Quinn had heard, Luxanna was quite adept at those missions. Luxanna's attitude made overlooking her nobility easy, but in the end, mages were mages.

If Luxanna wasn't a mage, they would almost assuredly be friends – so why? Quinn shook her head. Regret it as she might, she had committed a grave offense against Luxanna, and she ought to be happy that she'd received no backlash – yet. She had already screwed up her relationship with Luxanna. It was time to focus on the present.

What could Quinn say that could possibly interest a duchess? She was entirely out of her element. Ionia suddenly seemed like an strange, foreign kingdom.

Unaware of Quinn's internal struggle, Karma took her time resealing their tea jars and repositioning them on the tray. Finally, she turned her eyes to Quinn.

"There are many people in this world," Karma said. "And while there's more than I'll ever meet, I want to be friends with as many as possible, Quinn. I'd like to think I can understand people well, and my understanding leads to mutual trust, where we can help each other and make the world a little better of a place."

"A better place?" Quinn echoed, looking around the empty room. "I don't think you need to befriend people to do that."

"You disapprove of the League of Legends?" Karma said, somehow reading her thoughts.

"I think there are better ways to go about it. What did _you_ think, after your first battle in the Fields of Justice?"

Karma's smile widened, her red lips betraying a hint of amusement. "Would you believe it if I said I didn't have it as bad as you, despite all of Noxus wanting my head on a spike? If you feel like sharing your secret, I'm deeply curious as to how you angered them so. I've never quite seen such a display of obsession, and when speaking of Noxians, that says a lot."

Quinn frowned. "I was thinking about that, too. I don't really know what the norm is for these battles, but I'm hoping Talon had something to do with it – he's tried to kill me a handful of times, and if it wasn't under his orders, then I really don't know what's going on."

"I see," Karma said, fanning herself with a red, paper folding fan that Quinn hadn't noticed her ever even reaching for. "Talon does seem like a reasonable suspect, but I didn't think he had quite so much sway, in Noxian politics."

"You never answered my question," Quinn realized. "Did you never see anything wrong with the League, back when you first joined?"

"If not the League, then what?" Karma seemed to be enjoying the conversation, but her words were sharp, inviting discourse. "I can find plenty wrong with everything around us, but is there any benefit to pointing them all out, if fixing them is beyond our capabilities and overwhelming those who try to make it better? Do you think the world would be in a better place, if we didn't have the League of Legends to protect us?"

"Protect us?" Quinn challenged. "The only people who are safe are the people who live in Senta."

"Ionia is under the protection of the Institute of War."

"That's easy to say, but is that really the case? The League lets all the kingdoms think they can disband their armies and fight with words backed by nothing. Demacia's selfishness is growing, its foreign policy is practically to quarantine themselves from the rest of the world – they're becoming like Urtistan, over there. Noxus is the only kingdom that sees things as they really are, and that's bad for the rest of the world. With the League, we're just blindfolding ourselves against our enemies. When the blindfold comes off, it'll be too late to do anything."

"The alternative – what you're proposing – is chaos. Chaos, in hopes that it will eventually sort itself out. As it is now, the Institute of War is delaying a total war. For years, a war like those from the Rune ages has been brewing, but tensions have stagnated since the League of Legends was created and started acting as intermediary. If we make use of this time, we will find a solution. In fact, the solution may actually be time itself. Noxus is changing. Once, they had the Black Rose, but it withered and died. The royal bloodline a few years later, and then several generations of disorganized generals fell quickly too. Even General Du Couteau is dead, and he was known as the wisest man Noxus has ever seen. It's a very real possibility that one day, no new leader will step up to the plate and Noxus will undergo great changes, or else see themselves decline into an insignificant nation."

Noxus decline on its own accord? Unlikely.

General Du Couteau wasn't even dead, but all this talk of the League of Legends made Quinn wonder. How exactly could a new world power be created, with the League regulating everything? Would Du Couteau be going against the League, or did he have another plan?

"Already, support of the capital has been dwindling," Karma said. "The economy was strengthened by the war, but now Noxus has a massive army but nothing for the soldiers to do."

Karma motioned towards the biscuits, and Quinn took one, taking a thoughtful bite.

"You don't think they'll go and find something for the army to do?"

"I think they respect Summoners too much to do anything violent. If we were to simplify the situation, we could say a Summoner is equivalent to five hundred normal soldiers. How big is the Noxian army?"

"Two point two million strong," Quinn instinctively replied.

Karma frowned, her violet eyes betraying a hint of surprise. "Yes, that sounds about right. Yet Senta is the largest congregation of magic users in the world. Not only would the Summoners have several days notice of the approaching army, but without a tried and true general, the Noxus army would lack organization necessary to form and supply such a large invasion. I imagine a contingent of four thousand magic users could protect this city."

"What about Swain?" Quinn interrupted.

Karma took a biscuit herself, taking a small bite out of it. "Do you ever get the feeling that Swain isn't interested in leading Noxus?"

"What do you mean?"

"He joined the League," Karma said, shaking her head. "That just doesn't seem very Noxian, even if it was in response to Prince Jarvan's entry. Swain has been very quiet, and spends a lot of time within Senta. I have a hard time imagining him returning to Noxus to rally its forces any time soon. It's almost as though he wants to be usurped. Sources tell me that even the council back in Noxus is getting tired of his lack of presence."

Now that Karma mentioned it, Quinn realized Noxus did seem leaderless. Swain didn't do much to step up to the plate, and Du Couteau left it vulnerable when he could have taken complete control and turned the kingdom into what he wanted. Something didn't add up.

Karma smiled, tapping her wrist as though she wore a watch. "It's done. Careful not to drink too many of the leaf fragments – not that they have a particularly enjoyable taste on their own – and leave about half a teaspoon of tea left in the cup for the reading."

Quinn pulled the saucer closer, and regarded it warily. The tea was a rich, golden orange and steaming hot. It didn't contain any notable amount of magic, which left Quinn doubting its abilities to read the future.

Out of curiosity, Quinn stole a glance at Karma's cup. It was a green tea, much like what Quinn had drank in Heiwa village.

Slowly, Quinn lifted the cup to her lips and tilted it back. The hot liquid seared her tongue, but felt pleasant on the way down. She had elected to try only a little bit on her first sip, but the warm feeling in her stomach and the tea's surprising lack of bitterness made her take a larger sip. The taste wasn't as agreeable as the first try, and she vowed to only consume it in small sips.

She couldn't even think of a proper comparison – it truly was a flavour unique to Ionia. It certainly wasn't an earthy flavour, which Quinn would have been able to immediately recognize and appreciate. Rather, it was much softer, almost flavourless but not quite.

She set her cup down on its saucer at the same time as Karma did. The cups clacked on their saucers in unison, and Karma cleared her throat.

"What do you think?"

"It's... unique," Quinn said, failing to find a better word to describe it.

"Such an impartial answer, though I can't say an unexpected one. You've spent some time in Ionia, haven't you, Quinn?"

Quinn hesitated, before nodding. Her mission hadn't been classified. She'd met with some Ionian fighters, and though they were disorganized and spread out over a large area, Quinn was a little surprised the news of a Demacian spy hadn't trickled through the grape vine and reached Karma.

"And did you like it there?"

Quinn nodded again, no hesitation necessary this time. She took a sip of her tea, wincing a little at the taste. The scenery was nice and the people were nice, but their favorite drink was a little questionable.

"If not for the League of Legends, Ionia would be no more. Occupied by Noxus, our culture would slowly die, and in a decade it would be no longer recognizable.

The battle came down to a few key soldiers, who stalled long enough for the Institute of War to declare themselves arbiter. The lengths the Institute underwent, getting involved in such a war, is immeasurable. In the end, it took ten soldiers to determine the outcome, and none of these soldiers lost their lives. Is this the League you are against?"

Quinn took her time, tending to her tea for a minute. "You said it yourself – that friendship should be about mutual help – so why didn't you just enlist magic users from the mainland? Go around the Institute's control, and bring in magic users to fight."

"That was proposed. Are you familiar with the division of public opinion in Ionia?"

"Vaguely," Quinn said. She knew many Ionians wanted peace, while others wanted vengeance, and it had caused discord when it came time to sign the peace treaty.

"People such as myself wanted to fight with politics, rather than lives, but not everyone had the same aspirations. Master Yi, our foremost practitioner of the Wuju style of martial arts, was vehemently against making concessions to Noxus. He wanted to push the front lines back. Start a counter attack, if you would. Whether or not we had the resources to do so was a completely different question, but he – and several other powerful nobles – would have dragged the world's superpowers into the battle. They wanted an all out war, believing they could win."

"Sounds like a bad idea," Quinn admitted.

Karma gave her a gentle smile. "We did consider it, but the lives that would have been lost – it wasn't something we could commit to, even if the outcome had been assured."

It had been about preserving lives. Was that why the Institute of War was in power, and nobody wanted to question it?

Demacia didn't care for politics outside its own borders, so for them, having the Institute of War regulate things, and prevent any insanity from reaching their lands, was convenient. Noxus wasn't yet confident in its abilities to handle the Summoners in a war, so for them it was a combination of fear and respect – nothing permanent. Ionia used the Institute of War for protection, while trying to strengthen the bonds with their allies before time ran out. Quinn could understand things a little better now, but there was one question that surfaced.

"Why does the Institute of War want?" she said. "What do they get from all this?"

Misa passed through the room, on some unknown business, while Karma took a drink of her tea and ate another biscuit from the shrinking pile on the plate.

"The Institute of War comprises of many Summoners," she said, setting her tea down and picking up her paper fan, fanning herself patiently. "Back in the day, with the original three High Summoners, they had a single interest. They wanted to create a community where they could practice their powers – much like the Chronomancers of Urtistan, but less insular. When war threatened them and their desires, they proved how resourceful they could be. By acting as mediator, they've put themselves in a unique position, where anyone who attacks them will suffer the wrath of the rest of the world. Now, as long as they keep doing their job, they're free to do whatever research they desire. They even have a city of millions of people to boost their economy and help fund their efforts. Since Senta and the surrounding region isn't, by definition, a kingdom, there is no royalty or noble families. Instead, Summoners hold the power. They are comparable to the nobles and royalty of Demacia. That is what they get – an exceptional arrangement, if you ask me."

An image of Gerrit, her nearly bald, gibbering assistant for the week, came to mind, and Quinn nearly laughed aloud at the thought of him being comparable to royalty.

"Something funny?" Karma asked.

If the Summoners did all that, then maybe they too, were interested in immortality? Quinn would have to look into their research.

"Not really," she said aloud. "It's just that magic is ridiculous."

"I've heard many ways of describing magic, but never 'ridiculous'. I didn't see you use magic during your match on the Rift – do you have something against it?"

Quinn snorted, before quickly raising her hands up apologetically. "Sorry, but that's something of an understatement. Not to mention, I can't use magic, so that's why you didn't see any."

Karma raised her eyebrows, apparently disbelieving. "No magic? At the very least, I'm glad you weren't handicapping yourself in the match, but – and forgive me if this sounds a little condescending – but are you sure you can't use magic?"

"High Summoner Vessaria even verified it. I have a strong constitution – strengthened further by the time I spent working on my family's farm – but that's it. Conveniently, the Fields of Justice helped put me on more even footing. My quiver was enchanted so it wouldn't run out of bolts, and the bolts themselves seemed different. Stronger."

Karma kept staring at her, a little too intensely for Quinn's comfort.

"I would have never guessed," she finally said, giving Quinn a gentle smile. "You're very fortunate to have Valor as an ally."

"What do you mean?"

"From what I've heard, he's a very powerful Demacian eagle. However he received his magic, it must have been quite spectacular."

Quinn nodded slowly.

She had always had the feeling that Valor was a little different. Nothing ever seemed like a new experience for him – there weren't ever any 'firsts', as far as Quinn could observe. He didn't learn, when exploring the world, but rather he seemed to know the regions, their geography and local flora and fauna. He had instinctively known Noxians were her enemy, when they first ran into a patrol, which was something few other Demacian eagles would be able to even learn. From the moment his wings healed, as small as he was, he had been hunting and helping her. When they fought the monsters and beasts of the forest, his attacks and fighting style seemed flawless, as if he had perfected them while still a nestling.

Quinn had never questioned him, but from an outsider's perspective, he must have seemed extraordinary.

"If you did have magic," Karma said, "hypothetically speaking, would you use it? Would you have fought magic with magic on the Rift?"

Quinn stared at the leaves floating in her cup. "I couldn't say." If she had magic, then it wouldn't affect her negatively, would it? "Probably."

Karma nodded, as though the vague answer brought her some greater understanding. "Though you didn't really seem to need it. You always seemed to know when Twitch was sneaking up on you. How?"

"Oh, that's easy," Quinn said, somehow managing a smile despite remembering her battle. "Two things come to mind immediately, and there's a handful of smaller details. The most obvious one is the smell. When the wind is just right, we can sense him coming from a mile away-"

"We?" Karma said, teacup suspended just before her lips as she listened attentively.

"Squirrels, birds, frogs. Me. Dragonflies along the river, and a mink, too. The forest may be artificial, but the High Summoners did a good job filling it up with animal life. Sometimes I feel sorry for them, though. I can't imagine how many times the animals have died from stray magic when the champions are fighting."

Karma's lips twitched, as though she were amused. Finally, she took a sip of her tea, leaving Quinn to continue her explanation.

"The second warning is caused by Twitch's lack of caution. The dirt of the forest is pretty compact, so footprints and dust generally won't reveal his position, but he runs everywhere, ignorant to all the flora around him. Stray blades of grass in the path sway to one side – it's indication of him passing by. Leaves on a tree rustling – anything is enough. If I had been alone, I wouldn't have noticed him half the times, but multiply my senses by ten, or twenty, and it becomes much easier. We only need one of us to notice him, and react to it, and all the others follow suit. Like a chain reaction, I'll eventually be caught up in the realization that something unpleasant is coming our way."

"I see. You have very keen senses, Quinn. Despite Twitch's reputation for being a – a very odorous mutant rat, I've never heard of his scent giving away his position."

Quinn kept silent, unsure of how to react to the compliment.

"But it feels as though I have been the one asking all the question," Karma said. "Is there anything you wish to ask of me?"

Quinn looked up, surprised at the straightforwardness of the Duchess. "There is," she said after a moment's thought. "I heard something from Akali, just an hour ago. Back during the war – actually it might not have been then, I'm not sure – but Luxanna Crownguard was in Ionia, and she was involved in something big? Well, I was wondering what exactly it was."

Quinn might have imagined it, but a flash of irritation seemed to cross Karma's face, her dark brown eyes showing a hint of anger. She nodded, and the faint smile that had been on her lips their entire conversation returned.

"Demacia, despite all its weaknesses, has an admirable chain of command when it comes to protecting their own."

Quinn frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means what happened – what Lux did – was covered up."

Karma's words sounded really damning. Didn't Akali say it was supposed to clear up her doubts about Luxanna?

"Not many in Ionia even know all the details," Karma continued, "but I shouldn't be surprised that Akali has that information, and I think it's a good thing she didn't tell you. I know I owe you answers, but I won't answer this question – not now at least. Lux should be responsible for admitting to her mistakes. If you ask her, and she refuses to answer, then come back to me." Karma swirled the remaining tea in her cup. "I don't imagine you're quite happy with that response, but that's how it is. Perhaps you've another question for me?"

"Why did you join the League?" Quinn said, wincing when she realized it was a much more personal question than she had intended.

Karma didn't seem to be bothered, however, as she gave Quinn a large smile. "Do you believe there is a solution to the world's problems?"

A short silence hung over the tea foyer. Quinn wasn't sure if it was a rhetorical question or not.

"I do," Karma said, answering her own question with resolution. "But the solution won't be found in Ionia. It won't be a powerful magical artifact waiting to bring peace to the world. It will be people, working together, to stop those that seek to _destroy_."

Quinn realized then that Karma wasn't only talking of Noxus. She wasn't speaking on the scope of wars between kingdoms, which marred Runeterra's history. Karma meant everything. Starvation and disease, the Passengers and bandits, the Shadow Isles and the Void. There were so many threats to the world, that most people focused on only one or two, if any at all, but Karma – perhaps growing up as royalty in Ionia had instilled a unique perspective on the world – but Karma was thinking on a much greater scale than everyone else.

"Never should one generation look back on another, and think things have declined. The world should be improving, incrementally, as we learn from our mistakes and evolve. My presence in Senta isn't just for Ionia. Selfishness can only bring us so far-"

The words reminded Quinn of Demacia's policies. Was that intentional?

"-and it just so happens that, at the center of Valoran, people from all over the world flock. What better place to abandon selfishness and look towards the future?"

"I can't tell if you're an optimist or not," Quinn admitted.

"I wouldn't classify my world view as optimistic, but a few close friends have told me I don't spend enough time thinking in the present."

Even as she spoke, Quinn could understand. Maybe it was their topic of discussion, but Karma did seem a little disconnected, as though she were split between two dimensions, the other her busy piecing together the formula for a better world.

Quinn took one last sip of her tea, before setting it down on its saucer and nodding towards it.

"It's done," she said.

Karma smiled. "When you're ready, give the remaining tea three swirls, and then set it upside down on the saucer, letting the remaining liquid pour out. Try to think about your future, as you're doing this – but you don't need to stress too hard about it – it just helps a little, is all."

Karma's voice had taken on a more mystical tone, and Quinn listened carefully.

Despite her earlier claims of not caring about the result, Quinn felt her her anxiety grow. Taking a few calming breaths, she reached for her teacup.

"Left hand," Karma interrupted.

Quinn flinched, before changing hands. As directed, three times she swirled the tea. It felt weird to drain the tea into her saucer, but she did so, carefully, as she upended the teacup and set it in place.

Her future. What did she want? She wanted what everyone wanted – happiness. She was human, so she wanted to be safe and happy – it was only natural. While Quinn loved hiking the forests and mountains of the world, she wanted a place she could always return to, somewhere to call home. Heiwa village jumped into mind. It was a place she already knew she felt safe and comfortable at. The people were friendly and helpful, and the magic was at a minimum. If she could build her own house from scratch, and start a life there, able to come and go as she pleased, then what more could she ask for?

Karma pulled Quinn's saucer towards her but Quinn hardly processed the sound. A minute passed, where they were both frozen likes statues.

But there was something else that apparently didn't fall into the scope of human greed, for some reason or another. Quinn didn't want to die. Ever. The world was such a vast, interesting place, and given a thousand years she wouldn't be able to explore half of it, and if she had, there would be more, beyond the world, to explore. There were other dimensions out there, as evidenced by Taric, the Passengers, the Fields of Justice, and so many people. To die without knowing anything about the universe would be too depressing.

It would be a lie, however, to say her desire for immortality was fully explained by her curiosity of the world. She was also afraid of death. Even since before dying on the Summoner's Rift, she feared the nothingness that followed it. She didn't want her existence to end, ever, and when it was completely, entirely possible to avoid it – as so many others in this world did – then why would she settle for less?

Out of the corner of Quinn's eye, she could see the bamboo fountain outside – the only thing moving in her field of view.

Quinn wondered, did immortality fall under the scope of happiness?

She had read stories where the immortal heroes, over time, lost the appeal of life and became empty, discontent souls who were bound to wander the earth forever. These stories, she unequivocally scorned, thinking to herself that they had been broken humans before they achieved immortality, and that was why they had fallen apart. Sitting in the temple-like house of a duchess, however, a seed of doubt was planted in her mind. So few people chased immortality, so perhaps the stories weren't all great fabrications of years gone by?

Slowly, the Duchess lifted the cup and turned it over. Quinn waited with bated breath.

"Huh," Karma mumbled, looking troubled and oblivious to the tense mood that had been building. "I know I told you not to drink the leaves, but it would have been fine to drink _some_. Well, that's not entirely your fault – or it is, because it's your future, but it's also the cup's fault. It just really wants to talk."

Frowning, Karma began to rotate it, as if expecting to find something of interest on the floral pattern. She began to hum a mystery song, tilting and rotating the cup for nearly a full minute. Finally, Quinn couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Um," she said, fearful of interrupting the reading, "is something wrong?"

Karma looked up, almost seeming shocked at Quinn's presence. "I'll confess, I've never had a reading quite like this before, and I've read for some very interesting champions."

"Let me guess," Quinn sighed. "Death."

"No," Karma reassured her, before backtracking. "Well, yes, but no. There's more. Death is in every other cup – it's hardly mention worthy. This, on the other hand, is good – I think. It almost warrants me revisiting some of my old scripts, because if I'm reading this right..." She tipped the cup, so Quinn could see inside the cup. "It's love."

Quinn looked at the seaweed plastered to the ceramic cup.

"Love?" Quinn repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief as she stared at the inside of the teacup.

Karma nodded slowly, as if about to change her mind. "Success with love. I haven't read something like this for years. Since before I joined the League. Of course, champions of the League still fall in love – left and right, with Ahri around – but reading it in the leaves is something different altogether. This isn't a platonic love, like the love I'm sure you feel for Valor. That love is read as friendship, in tasseomancy, and is much more common. This love refers to your love life, and it begs the question, Quinn, is there someone you love?"

Love? She was hardly close enough to anyone to call them a friend. She and Prince Jarvan had once been on close terms, but that was a thing of the past, and she had never been physically attracted to him in the first place. Had she ever felt attraction for another person? The angelic mage, who descended from stormy skies to save her from the Passengers, came to mind. Her pale, flawless face and long, flowing blonde hair had left Quinn speechless. Quinn had found her saviour attractive, but would likely never see her again. And in either case, it might have been because she'd been on the verge of death, that a friendly face seemed so beautiful.

Completely unbidden, Luxanna Crownguard came to mind. Quinn could remember the day she had been discharged from the hospital, and Luxanna had been waiting for her in a cute little cyan sundress, adorned with a colourful floral pattern. She had smiled when she caught sight of Quinn, and – and the best explanation Quinn could offer for having such a vivid memory of Luxanna was that she had a thing for blondes.

Karma really didn't hold back, and though she tried not to, Quinn could feel her face heat up. Was she really so prude as to blush at such a simple question?

"It's fine," Karma said into the responding silence. "Whether or not there's someone you love, whether or not you're willing to tell me – though I am known to give excellent advice in the romance domain." Karma gave a conniving wink and Quinn was a little surprised to hear the Duchess boast. "Just be aware, Quinn, that success might be easier to achieve than you would think."

Quinn gave a quick nod, before looking out into the courtyard, finding the rocks of the garden intensely fascinating.

"Though," Karma added, her smile disappearing, "there is more than love, waiting for you. Quinn, have you been planning to leave – go travelling somewhere? A journey, perhaps?"

"Yes," Quinn said, still watching the rocks outside. The sun was beginning to set, and the courtyard was darkening. A raven landed in the middle of the sand garden, pecking at unseen insects and ruining the carefully made lines of sand.

"Where?"

"Heiwa," Quinn mumbled, a little reluctantly. She didn't know why she was telling the Karma her plans, but the Duchess did seem to be a trustworthy person.

"Ionia? You were planning to go to Ionia? I'm sorry, but you can't."

Quinn eyes shot up. "What?" Had she just been denied entry into the kingdom, by the Duchess herself?

"It's very clear that you'll die, should you attempt the journey. Or, in the proper words, as foretold by the tea leaves: in your near future, you will embark on a long journey. You will be alone, in this journey, and it will end in failure – it will end in your death."

Quinn let out a defeated sigh. Why now, of all times? She always travelled alone, so it seemed a little absurd that suddenly her next trip would end in her death.

"Right," Quinn said. "You did say there was death in the cup. And how accurate is all this supposed to be?"

"Normally, I would just advise you against it, but this is something more serious. I don't imagine even Valor's company would be enough to divert it. This particular reading has occurred before. Duchess Mirellie of Ionia lived two centuries ago, and despite being read the same thing, she left one night to visit her lover in a nearby city. Her body was found months later, yet no one could say how she died. Tea leaves are one of the stronger divinations. Mirellie was a very powerful duchess – not one to fall prey to animals of the forest. What happened that night, no one knows, but ever since then, Ionians have been particularly careful about readings involving journeys in isolation. That's not to say we aren't careful about all readings, though."

"So I can't leave the city? For how long?"

Karma gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "It's all relative. If you really must leave, wait a few weeks and find someone to accompany you."

Quinn frowned as Misa arrived, collecting their plates, cups, and the tea leaf jars. She bowed and wordlessly backed away.

What was that even supposed to mean, it's all relative? City life didn't suit Quinn, but was something really lurking out there, waiting to kill her? Quinn didn't understand how fortune-telling worked.

A shattering sound made Quinn jump to her feet. Across from the table, Karma didn't flinch. Quinn turned to the source of the sound. Halfway to the kitchen, at the center of the wooden boarded floor, Misa stood frozen, a look of terror on her face. On the ground, Quinn's cup, shattered into many pieces and spread out on the floor. For a moment, Misa stared, dumbfounded at the remnants of the cup. Then, she looked up to see Karma watching silently, quivered a little, and tried to speak. Her mouth opened and close a few times silently, as if her voice had been stolen away.

"Misa," Karma spoke.

The girl squeaked in response.

"I think we'll have an Chowa-style salad tonight. Could you go out and buy the ingredients? And tell Irelia to drop by too."

She nodded, the movement jerky as she quickly broke eye contact and moved for a broom. Karma rose to her feet in a single motion.

"Don't touch the cup – don't worry about the cup," Karma said, causing Misa to freeze once again. "Now get going. Ingredients and Irelia. Make sure to buy enough for us three. I have a feeling Irelia will be be having an extended visit."

Once Karma sat down again, Misa disappeared in a flash, almost tripping as she slowed down to grab her purse by the door. The door slammed shut, a little harder than Quinn might have expected, and the place became silent a second later, when the walls stopped shaking. Quinn looked at the glass table in front of them, unsure of how to react. Misa had been terrified, but Karma hardly reacted at all.

"Have you ever fought any of the Du Couteau's, Quinn?"

"No, I haven't," Quinn said. "Well, aside from the battle on the Rift."

"Outside of the Fields of Justice. You ever meet them? Perhaps you've shared a conversation with Katarina, since coming to the League?"

"Katarina? I haven't."

Karma frowned, something Quinn thought was probably a rare sight. "I see. Interesting..."

"What's interesting? Why are you asking these questions?" Quinn said, feeling a little irritated.

"Because of the teacup, Quinn. And because of the tendency of the Du Couteau's to get involved when they shouldn't. While it's not detectable by humans, the cup was a magical artifact, coming from a collection of a dozen. I have ten remaining. November is now laying in pieces on the ground, and let me tell you something, Quinn. Magical teacups do not accidentally get dropped, nor do they _simply_ break. Do you believe in prophecies?"

Quinn shook her head, not really considering the question in complete honesty.

"The word prophecy has been tainted by many years of history, until we can no longer tell the factual stories from fiction. It is because of this reason that everyone thinks of something different when they hear the word 'prophecy'. A prophecy, in reality, is like burnt paper. It is light and fragile. Move it or touch it, and it may disintegrate. Disregard it and it will subsist." Karma's eyes were trained on the broken pieces of the cup. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Quinn? Prophecies tell what will happen, if no one takes a step awry. They aren't to be feared, because they can so easily be crushed."

"Are you saying," Quinn hesitated, "that the cup over there – it just – it's a prophecy?"

Karma met her eyes, and Quinn froze, not even willing to breath.

"Yes."

"A prophecy of what?"

"That remains to be seen, Quinn. A burnt paper can't be so easily read. It may take some time, but rest assured, when it's complete, I will inform you of what it has to say, if anything of substance at all. These cups are a treasured inheritance, so I do expect it won't be a disappointment, but in some ways, you could say a prophecy is weaker than tasseomancy. Oh, and one more thing. I recommend you do not tell anyone about the prophecy. Now, it's darkening outside," Karma observed. "Perhaps we should call it an evening. I had an enjoyable time, and I hope you did, too."

* * *

"How was it?"

Quinn jolted. Without realizing it, Akali had joined her, matching her step for step down the paved road.

"I – I'm still thinking," Quinn said. "A lot was said."

Akali gave a single, understanding nod. "You get your fortune told?"

"Yeah," Quinn said. As she'd suspected, it was something Karma did for all the champions who accepted her invitation.

They walked in silence, the sky darkening. The shuffling of their footsteps the only sound on the street.

"I'm going to go ahead and vouch for Karma, here," Akali said eyes downcast and voice quieter. "Do not take her readings lightly."

Continuing to walk in silence for awhile, Quinn wondered if Akali was speaking from personal experience.

They were entering the intersection where the Zaunite housing started. A few of the Zaunite houses looked to be bunkers, built to withstand strong, magical explosions. They all had chimneys, and a few were expelling a smoke that Quinn wasn't convinced was a by-product of a normal fire. Compared to the Ionian buildings behind her, it was drab and lifeless. Grass grew in small patches, but most of it was yellowed and probably hadn't seen water in months. The trees that managed to grow were leafless. The most colour she could see was from a cactus in front of a house, with reddish pink flowers blooming on it. She wondered who it belonged to.

With her next step, Quinn recoiled, cringing her nose. A sickening smell stopped her, and she turned to Akali, who was looking at her with a puzzled expression.

"Is there some kind of barrier, here?" Quinn asked. The smell reminded her of the sulphur mines in the northern salt domes of Demacia. It was a smell she hadn't ever expected – or wished – to experience again.

Akali nodded. "There is. Impressive that you can tell."

"Impressive? It's hard not to – I don't know how Zaun's champions can live with it."

Akali rubbed her nose. "Oh. Right. Well, Janna provides the barrier as a favor to us, so at least it doesn't extend onto our street."

"Janna?" Quinn recalled reading the name on the roster of champions.

"Speak of the devil," Akali said, motioning down the road. "Well, actually she's about as far as humanly possible from being a devil, but it's just a figure of speech."

Three women were walking down the road. Trailing in behind, Quinn recognized Misa. She looked distressed and kept her distance from the two in front, tightly clutching a basket from what was likely her trip to the market. In front, one woman seemed to be at the throat of the other. Four blades hovered ominously around her waist. They lacked handles but Quinn could tell from their distance that the swords were as sharp as any she had seen before. They glinted in the setting sun, and Quinn diverted her eyes slightly until they rotated to the woman's other side.

The swords' owner could only be one person. Irelia, the Will of the Blades, didn't seem to notice her and Akali standing in the middle of the road. Instead, Irelia was walking sideways, shouting indistinct words and throwing her hands out to the side when she failed to get a reaction from the third woman.

As if seeing Irelia in person for the first time hadn't been enough of a shock, the third woman was the very woman she had just thought she wouldn't ever see again. By process of elimination, Janna was being ruthlessly lectured by Irelia. Janna seemed a little more human, this time around. She elected to actually walk on the ground, though her high heels gave her a height advantage over Irelia, and her magical staff wasn't anywhere in sight.

"Her – it's her," Quinn whispered, stepping forward. Unmistakably, Janna was the angel who had saved her from the Passengers.

Akali quickly brought up a hand to block her path. "They're at it again. You don't want to go between them when they're fighting. Let's just leave them alone and let them pass."

The approaching group was now closer, and Quinn could hear Irelia's words, even as Akali pulled her to the side of the road and out of the way.

"You know – we all know – where they're coming from. If you'd just quit being so cautious for once, we could delay, we could find something!"

An unnatural wind buffeted Irelia's hair, but Janna didn't even turn her head to face the words.

"Answer me, dammit," Irelia swore. "Is all you care about your reputation? If you have something to prove, then do it by saving them, not killing them!"

She waited a beat, as though it were a script in which she knew she wouldn't get an answer. "Fine, then. If you think you're so high and mighty, then I'll do it without your help. If I see you out there, though-"

"Irelia," Janna said, her voice just as Quinn remembered. "Please, stop. Neither of us want to hear you say anything you'll regret."

Surprisingly, Irelia did fall silent. Her blades slowed their revolution, sagging as though under some invisible pressure, and she seemed to drag her feet more, the liveliness she was showing a moment ago completely gone.

Moving aside appeared to be for naught, as the trio saw them – first Irelia, who slowed to a stop with furrowed brows – and then Janna, and reluctantly, Misa. They were all staring at her.

Akali, as though feeling left out, took a few steps back to join in their staring. "Did you kill their puppy, or something?"

Quinn ignored the question, trying to find words while under the sudden, unwanted stares.

"The Demacian," Irelia said, eyes widening a second later as she turned to Misa. " _She_ was with Karma?"

Before Misa could respond, Janna stepped forward. "Warrior," she proclaimed, and Quinn half expected lightning and thunder to accompany the word.

Misa tugged sheepishly on Irelia's sleeve. "The Duchess is waiting for us, we should go."

Irelia's eyes narrowed as she glared at Quinn and then Janna. "Warrior?" she echoed darkly.

Quinn winced, not liking the direction of the conversation. She was no warrior, but she _was_ tired. Since the beginning of the day, haggling for decent prices in the market, Quinn had been interacting with people constantly, and it was draining, when compared to a day spent in the forest.

"Oh," Akali whispered, though no one seemed to pay attention to her. "I just realized – I have some bonsai trees that need trimming – got to go. Catch you later, Quinn."

And before Quinn could think to respond, Akali abandoned her. Quinn took a deep breath and met Janna's eyes.

"Janna, is it?" Quinn said.

"I didn't expect to cross paths again, so soon, but I am glad nonetheless. We never did have an opportunity for introductions, with you assisting me against the Passengers, and all."

Assist wasn't the way Quinn would have worded it, her life being saved and all, but the word seemed to have been intentionally picked to aggravate Irelia.

A cold breeze passed through the area, and as though it had no regard for her clothing, she could feel its cold against her skin.

"From the muddied streets of Zaun's darkest corners, weather mage extraordinaire and chess enthusiast, Janna Windforce, at your service."

Janna gave a small bow, causing Irelia to stomp off, hissing something under her breath.

* * *

"What were you doing walking with Irelia?"

"Keeping her company," Janna replied as she started back in the direction the three had come from. Quinn followed, not yet tired enough for her curiosity to drag her back to the forest.

"What?" Quinn said, remembering Irelia's aggressive demeanor. "Why? She wasn't exactly being friendly."

"She went through all the effort to knock my door in," Janna said, and Quinn couldn't tell if it was literal or not. "When Misa interrupted our conversation, I decided to accompany her to the Duchess' to let her vent a little while longer."

"Let her vent," Quinn echoed, still a little confused. Were the two of them friends or not?

"I feel obligated, at the very least, to listen to her words, lest I make a mistake she could have prevented me from making.

"A mistake?" Quinn asked, wondering if she should be prying or not.

"Quinn, I first met you fighting the Passengers. You lent me a great deal of assistance, and for that, I owe you. The Passengers are my sworn enemy, and it is my goal to destroy them all. I want to erase their existence – a task that's not so easily accomplished by injuring their bodies – and I want to do this for a selfish, personal reason. Irelia believes that the people trapped within the Passengers can be saved. Perhaps influenced by Blitzcrank's existence, and her own unique situation, Irelia wants to save them. Since we do not fully understand the Passengers and their abilities, it could take years – and do you know what allows these blights into our world?"

"Tornadoes?" Quinn ventured.

"Correct. For some reason, in the wake of tornadoes – of which _I_ am responsible for – they awaken from some unknown dimension and wreak havoc on innocents. If the Passengers aren't a direct attack on my reputation, Quinn, than what is? I cannot stand idly by, while others look for a cure and my reputation is sullied. Though, I also operate under the belief that the spirits trapped within the Passengers do not want to be freed. I believe they want death, after everything they've seen and experienced. For my own sake, as mage of the weather, and to bring their nightmares to an end, I shall destroy them."

Quinn frowned. The battles with the Passengers was so vivid in her mind, she nearly felt noxious. She rubbed her abdomen, where a Passenger's halberd had once sliced her. The scar was one of the more prominent ones on her chest. Having had first hand experience with the Passengers, Quinn knew that Janna was right in at least one regard. The people who fell victim to the Passengers weren't looking to be rescued. She clearly saw, in their eyes, that they just wanted the horror to end.  
"At least you're doing something," Quinn said. "There should be more mages like you."

"Funny," Janna said, not sounding truly amused. "I was once told the very opposite. Let me tell you a story. I don't know what you'll make of it, but it will give you insight into at least one mage. Several years ago, when I was but a child in Zaun, I had a friend. This friend, like you, wasn't blessed with magical abilities. When my powers manifested themselves, and I went from a helpless orphan to a magical savant, she did not – could not – hide her bitterness. She was jealous of what I was given, and wondered why she, alone, was left on the dirty streets to fend for herself. She expected me to save her and cleanse Zaun – but when I offered her my hand to her, she could only look upon it in disdain. Though I never abandoned my humanity, like so many others who come upon great power, we could no longer see eye to eye. Our friendship quickly ended, and I discovered that my power would become a burden, if I didn't change myself alongside it.

" _Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required, and from him to whom they entrusted much, they will demand more_ ," Janna recited, as though reading from an ancient scripture. Then, she scoffed, a look of disgust crossing her face. "Long ago, someone said that, before marching off alone, to fight a war for his people. He died, and so have many others like him. Those who rise to the challenge, they will face demise at the hands of monsters like Singed, and we aren't able to thank them, or even ask them if it was worth it. What if _you_ were a mage? Would you willingly live such a life, dealing with everything malevolent in the world? Mages don't choose to be born with their inherent magical abilities. They don't choose their parents – none of us do. I am aware of filial and civic duty, but I do not believe it is right to put expectations on someone because of their abilities. Their free will should not be forfeit due to circumstances beyond their control. Without delving into deontological ethics, I believe it is morally permissible, as a mage or otherwise, to not help others. Rather – and this applies to everyone – inaction is not a sin, and it is not our duty to fight against evil."

Quinn remained silent. She could so easily see herself in the same position as Janna's friend, and it scared her. In fact, Luxanna had come to her, after the battle on the Rift, to offer assistance, and what had Quinn done in return?

"That having been said, I'm no heroine," Janna continued. "I'm not running a crusade against the world, trying to fix its wrongs. The Passengers have offended me – my battle is selfish, and those who get involved, I owe them. If there is anything you need from me, do not hesitate to ask. But, enough about me. You were visiting Karma, I take it?"

Quinn nodded, no longer wanting to talk, to be around people. "Yeah. Did you... accept her offer when you first joined the League?"

"I did," Janna said. "Karma is a very helpful person, and I'm glad I took the opportunity to meet with her."

Quinn silently agreed, before a thought occurred to her. "Actually, she reminds me of an information broker."

"You could say she is," Janna agreed. "Jarvan the Third, and Swain, too. Though Karma is unique in that she goes to the source of the information, meeting with people firsthand. Knowledge is power, as they say."

At the moment, Quinn felt weak, and her lack of knowledge only partially explained it.

"Quinn, I am in your debt. If there is anything you need that is within my abilities, simply ask."

They had arrived in the Demacian district, without Quinn ever realizing it. The sun had set but a fair number of people still roamed the streets for the time of day it was. Janna drew a few more stares in their direction from the men around them than Quinn was comfortable with.

"I'll keep that in mind. Did you have business in the Demacian district?" Quinn asked.

"No. I was simply walking you back."

"I don't live here," Quinn said, feeling a little awkward. "I'm... in the outer district." Homeless. Or, if she wanted to be strictly honest, her house was a thousand kilometers away, back in the Demacian capital.

Janna looked genuinely surprised. "They did offer, did they not?"

"They did. I refused."

"I see. Personally, I would want to keep close to my allies. I do suggest you reconsider their offer. Now, which gate are we headed towards?"

"It's fine," Quinn rushed to reassure her. "I had some other business to attend to, anyways."

* * *

The other business was bashing her head against a wall for her stupidity. Of course, she decided she would postpone doing so, in anticipation of needing to think of some very apologetic words for Luxanna Crownguard.

She had done a great injustice to Luxanna, when the mage only offered friendship in return. Luxanna was rich, a noble, and a powerful magic user, but Quinn had seen nothing to indicate Luxanna was a bad person. It had just been her prejudice against mages and nobles that kept Quinn acting so standoffish. She shouldn't have needed others to make her realize that, but the important thing was that Quinn had come to a decision.

Tomorrow, she would apologize to Luxanna. Even if the girl hated her and refused to hear it, Quinn would apologize. It might have been a selfish thing, closure that she needed, but still, she would apologize. And if there was even the smallest chance that Luxanna would forgive her, and they could spend more time together, evading the military's banquets and eating strange foods at fancy restaurants, then it was worth it, no?

Quinn had nothing to lose.

She was at the edge of the forest when she stopped mid stride. An involuntary shiver took hold of her entire body, and she took a step away from the shadows of the forest, her eyes roaming the darkness for signs of life.

_Danger_ , she could feel the forest whisper. _Death_.

Quinn held her dagger in hand, but she wasn't willing to enter. There was no enemy visible, and no enemy she could sense, but nonetheless, she couldn't ignore the fact that something was amiss.

Quinn made a decision. She turned back towards the city and began retracing her steps. All the while, Karma's words rang in her head. _You'll die, should you attempt the journey_. Quinn hadn't intended on leaving on a journey, so why? Why?

There was a single, unpleasant realization which she couldn't ignore. She couldn't do anything alone. Quinn was trapped, a prisoner by some mysterious force.


	12. Apology

Quinn woke up on what was probably a flea infested bed in an unnamed hotel she had found the night before on a unknown street somewhere within the city. Surprisingly, she felt refreshed and ready to take on the day's challenges – of which she had two lined up. Her first task of the day was to find a real place to spend the nights. From her previous investigations, she knew there were many choices. Lots of people who lived in Senta rented because they had just emigrated from their kingdoms and couldn't afford to buy a house.

Alone, she checked out of the hotel and entered the city's morning crowd.

Since her arrival in Senta, she and Valor had drifted apart. He spent his time in the forest, hunting prey, while Quinn was trapped in the city, dealing with people and magic. When she slept in an inn, like the previous night, Valor wasn't able to join her.

A Yordle by the name of Tinns found her the perfect place. He was an estate agent, who for a small fee brought her around to all the available housing in the area. He tried to hurry them through the outer city district, but Quinn refused to listen. The slums, as Tinns had called it under his breath, was the perfect place for her to live. Geographically, it was in the middle of both the forest and the Institute of War, making it a convenient place to spend her nights. The house she found was on the edge of the slums, closest to the forest, so Valor could join her whenever he desired, and it wasn't as busy as a place in the residential area would be.

The house was cheap, too, so it wouldn't cut too much into her budget. But the best part of all was how few summoners lived in the outer district. Unsurprisingly, magic was weakest in the slums. Here, people minded their own business, grouping together with known associates. Nobody would bother Quinn, and likely no one would recognize her as a champion of the League of Legends either. The people of the slums lived a laid back lifestyle, which Quinn could appreciate.

She briefly met with the landlord of the house she would be renting. Charles, a man with an accent as heavy as his gut, was a rich businessman who owned and rented out many places around the city, and when he heard she was a member of the League of Legends, the entire process proceeded smoothly.

Standing alone inside her house, Quinn realized she had no personal belongings to move in. The bed frame was lacking a mattress, no dishes were in the kitchen, and her book collection was scattered in dozens of hideouts in the Demacian forests. She didn't even soap to wash herself off in the shower.

It was a quiet and lonely place, and it reminded her of her house in the capital, though this one was much smaller and in a greater state of disrepair. The temptation to buy tea and dishes and other amenities to liven the place up was strong, but knew she was just delaying. It was time to visit Luxanna, and the more she delayed the harder it would get.

* * *

Quinn took a few steps past the place, before convincing herself to stop and turn around.

The house reminded her of a cottage she had stolen food from, during her first month after running away from home. White picket fence surrounded a neatly trimmed front yard that was too small for a garden, but too large to leave empty. Luxanna had chosen to plant red roses and pink tulips, alternating, across the front of the house, giving the place a bright, colourful atmosphere. It was like Quinn had been transported to fairyland when she hadn't been paying attention.

The house itself, painted yellow, was surprisingly small. Shorter than both Garen's house on the left and another on the right which she didn't know the owner of, the cottage had a large porch which Quinn cautiously stepped onto. Next to the door, there was an wrought-iron swinging bench with large cushions. For a distinct taste of Demacia, Luxanna had umbrella plants on either side of the bench.

The cottage really didn't belong in Senta, but that could have been said about many of the houses around the Institute of War. She had seen a Piltovian house earlier that had walls made entirely of glass, and a Bilgewater place that was actually a miniature castle surrounded by a moat and drawbridge.

The jingle of a wind-chime suspended above her head startled Quinn.

She approached the door, taking a deep breath and running through the words she would say for the thousandth time. It was a quick, simple apology. Nonetheless, her heart was pounding as though she were about to engage in battle and the adrenaline had yet to kick in so she couldn't focus.

There was no reason to be tense, she told herself. The most likely scenario was that she would apologize, and then Luxanna would tell her to get lost, and then she would, and it might not be something she would be able to accept right away, but at least she would have tried.

Quinn swallowed, realizing then how dehydrated she was. Maybe she should return later – run a few errands and return when she felt more up to the task.

Subtle movement at the periphery of her vision caught her attention. At Garen's house, the blinds on a window shifted. Someone had seen her, and Quinn realized she couldn't stand there forever. Hoping it hadn't been Garen, Quinn gave the door three quick raps.

A few seconds of silence passed, the house silent.

Was Luxanna not home? That was entirely plausible – she was probably a very busy person. Why had Quinn assumed she would be home?

She knocked one last time, but before she could turn to leave, she heard a bolt being slid aside. The door cracked open a centimeter.

Quinn hesitated. "Luxanna?"

In response, the door opened slightly wider. She could see the inside of the cottage. It wasn't lit well; only a dim lighting from the windows illuminated the quaint little house. Quinn took a small step forward, opening her mouth before choking on the words she'd practiced countless times.

Luxanna was wrapped in several layers of thick wool blankets with checkered brown design, her face concealed and her posture slouched under the weight of the blankets. Her stance, defensive. She was half hidden behind the door, her left foot conspicuously against its frame to prevent anyone from pushing it open wider.

"Luxanna," Quinn said. "I just want to talk. I need to tell you something."

A hand appeared from within the blankets, pulling them tighter to her small form, but no response was forthcoming.

Quinn faltered. She hadn't expected the girl to be anything less than rainbows and sunshine. Rather than stumble through an apology, Quinn kept silent, reevaluating her plan. Luxanna had no words either, and the two of them stood at the door, wordless. For how long, Quinn didn't know, but footsteps behind Quinn alerted her to someone approaching.

"Leave," Garen commanded, stepping up onto the porch, his head nearly reaching the ceiling. "You're not welcome here."

Quinn turned around. Both Crownguards were her superiors, but only Garen truly seemed to play the role.

It was a lost cause, apologizing. Luxanna wouldn't want to hear it, especially not in her current state. Was she sick, had Quinn just woken her up, or did she always walk around the house bundled up like it was winter?

In any case, Garen was right, and the realization pained Quinn a little. She had had the opportunity to befriend a noble and a mage, and while the notion seemed ridiculous, it was entirely her own fault for screwing it up.

Quinn didn't nod or meet his eyes, but she went to step away from the door. A hand, however, caught her. With a sudden change in momentum, Quinn was pulled inside the house. Garen shouted his sister's name, but it was too late. The door slammed shut.

* * *

The inside of the cottage matched Quinn's expectations of the place, but not of its inhabitant, who quickly let go of her wrist and took a step back.

The place was dark. No lights had been turned on and the only lighting came from beyond the windows, but there were enough of them that she could see the layout of the place.

The two of them stood in the entryway, only a couple steps from the living room. The kitchen was open to the rest of the house. There were dishes piled at the sink, which surprised Quinn. She had expected Luxanna to be the type of person who would wash them after every meal. There wasn't much counter space, and what wasn't occupied by dirty dishes was used to hold a variety of spices and teas.

The living room showed no signs of the modern day they lived in. Resting against the right wall was an old fashioned box television. Its screen was dusty – a sign it hadn't been used in a long time. Most people had Spheres, a modern type of TV which would display holographic images. It seemed odd that Luxanna had forgone the luxury.

The largest piece of furniture in the room was a couch positioned in front of the television. Next to it, there was a coffee table with an assortment of colourful threads and a large knitting needle. They seemed to be haphazardly thrown aside, indicating that Quinn had likely interrupted Luxanna's knitting. It seemed ill-fitting of a champion of the League to have such a hobby, but she wouldn't judge. Maybe that was Luxanna's coping mechanism for the League's horrors.

Quinn tried to refocus. The fact that Luxanna had allowed her inside and was giving her this very opportunity indicated that maybe things weren't too far gone. If not friends, they could at least be acquaintances. For this reason, Quinn felt more pressure than ever before. There was a glimmer of hope, inside the cabin, and forgiveness wasn't an impossibility.

Dust particles floated past the window where the sunlight beamed in, and it made the atmosphere seem so much more calming. It felt like time had stopped flowing decades ago, in the small cabin. She took a deep breath. Words wouldn't come easy to her – they never did, and the pressure didn't help. She had one chance, and as long as Garen didn't start banging on the door and shouting, she believed she could do it.

She would take her time, and be as honest as she could.

"I fucked up," Quinn said.

Those weren't the exact words she had in mind, but they worked. Luxanna lifted her head, pulling the blankets down to her shoulders for the first time. Quinn couldn't read the cerulean eyes that regarded her, making it all the more difficult. But Luxanna had created the opportunity, so Quinn wouldn't squander it.

"I'm a terrible person," Quinn said, meeting her eyes. "I'm not going to lie. I – I'm not going to come up with excuses. I hate magic – always have, and probably always will. It's a part of who I am, and, honestly, I don't hate that part of me. What I hate is how I treated you, as a result of it. I know I shouldn't be forgiven for what I did to you, and – and whether or not you want to even hear this – I regret what I did. You've only shown me kindness. You've reached out to me on multiple occasions and each time I treated you terribly. And for that, I'm sorry." Quinn almost choked on her words, and she took a second to get back on track. She wasn't an emotional person. "I'm really sorry. And I feel selfish and in the wrong to even ask this – but please, Luxanna, forgive me. I'll do anything to make it up to you."

The last bit had been completely unintended, but as Quinn spoke, she realized how badly she wanted to fix things between them. And... hadn't Luxanna said those exact words to her, only a couple days ago? Even then, Quinn had responded horribly.

She might have expected a protracted silence, while Luxanna contemplated her words, but Luxanna's reaction was almost immediate. The mage held up three fingers. Quinn faltered. The gesture wasn't familiar to her. Was it something Demacian noble used?

"Three," Luxanna said.

Quinn blinked.

"Three conditions." Luxanna's voice was a half whisper. "No matter what you say, I don't really think how you acted after our battle on the Rift is really you. And anyways, we all make mistakes. On three conditions, I'll forgive you."

"What are they?" Quinn said, not believing her ears.

"One: tell me your favorite colour."

"Fern green," Quinn said immediately. Earning Luxanna's forgiveness wouldn't – couldn't – be so easy. Quinn was being toyed with.

She waited patiently for the next condition, preparing herself for something absurdly impossible.

"Two: call me Lux," Luxanna said, now scrutinizing her.

Quinn wondered if she was dreaming. Any normal noble or mage would have pushed her away, but what Luxanna was asking of her was going in the completely opposite direction, wasn't it?

Mouth dry, Quinn nodded.

Lux gave a half-smile. "Three: dinner."

"Dinner?" Quinn said, failing to understand.

"Take me out to dinner. I'm hungry."

* * *

Lux was both hopeless and insane, Quinn realized. Hopelessly insane.

Or maybe Lux was playing the long con, and planning to put Quinn into debt. Her restaurant of choice was a five star establishment in the innermost district, which by Senta's standards was two months' pay for a member of the League of Legends. During the intervening hours before they met for dinner, Quinn had dropped by the bank, where a banker had been alarmingly eager to lend her money when he had learned she was a member of the League of Legends. Earlier, she had even used her name to easily secure a house – the advantages of being a champion were apparent, but Quinn couldn't believe it was worth the cost.

On their short walk to the restaurant, Lux had claimed that there were even a few restaurants that were even fancier, but Quinn had a hard time believing it.

The dining floor could have been mistaken for the interior of a cathedral. Massive stone columns located throughout the room were supporting the ceiling, which was several stories high and from it hung massive chandeliers, immersing the entire place in a brilliant light.

Waiters were milling about, taking orders and pushing trolleys of food hidden underneath large, chrome covers with a practiced ease. A live band was playing at the stage in front, but Lux and Quinn took a table as far away as possible from the noise. Whether it was intentional on Lux's part or not, Quinn was glad they were far enough away that they could easily talk without raising their voices.

Still in a dazed state, Quinn half realized that Lux might have still wanted to be friends. Otherwise, they wouldn't be eating out together. Quinn didn't deserve it, but she wanted it. She wanted to befriend Lux and look past the girl's magic and social status, and enjoy their time together. Not only because of Lux, but for herself, too. She wanted to prove to herself that she wasn't such a jealous, resentful, self-centered person. Wasn't that, in itself, narcissistic?

Quinn didn't want to dwell on it.

Conversation wasn't broken and stilted, as she expected it would be. One of Lux's many skills was carrying a conversation, no matter how awkward the other person was. Quinn could have almost believed their conversation back at her house had never happened, along with the past few days. Within minutes of sitting down, things felt normal, which was odd because she was in a completely foreign environment that only rich people with refined palates should have been comfortable in.

"So," Lux ventured, "I heard you spent yesterday with Karma?"

"Who told you that?" Quinn said.

Lux nodded, her suspicions apparently validated. "Janna dropped by yesterday. I was a little surprised to hear you two are acquainted."

"By chance, really," Quinn said, watching as a pair of summoners were seated two tables over. "Why was she visiting you? You two know each other?"

"We do, we do. She's from Zaun, but she fights as an independent. Back when she first joined the League, Jarvan somehow recruited her in a match, and since then we've been good friends. She really knows her weather magic, and I think that's how we got along so well. Not many..."

Lux's words faded to silence, and Quinn gave her an inquisitive look.

"Enough about that," Lux said, waving her hand dismissively. "Tell me what you thought about Karma. I've never really gotten along too well with her – though that's entirely my fault – but I was wondering what you think of her."

"She's interesting," Quinn said, mentally slapping herself for such a lackluster response. "I think if she really had power, like on the scale of Demacia or Noxus, she would be changing the world."

"She treats the world like a puzzle," Lux said.

"And she read my fortune, too." Quinn wouldn't say anything about the love reading – that was too embarrassing – but she wanted to hear someone else's thoughts about the rest of it. "I was told that I would die, if I left the city and went on a 'journey'."

Lux made a complicated face. "Why do you look so bothered? Fortune telling isn't accurate. Just forget about it."

Quinn shook her head. "It's real, I think. There's something in the forest that wants me dead. I couldn't really sense it, but I know it's there."

Before she could say anymore, their waiter arrived.

"Good evening, women. Would you like menus today, or are you ready to order?"

"Menus, please," Lux said.

He handed two over. "And will you be ordering alcohol tonight?"

Lux shook her head. "We won't."

Quinn wasn't about to object to it. Even if she had had enough funds to buy a thousand dollar bottle of wine, she hardly ever drank and wouldn't be able to enjoy the taste at all.

"Very well," the waiter said with a curt nod. "The special tonight is Demacian bisque, made from lobster caught in the Bay of Vines. Let me know when you are ready to order."

Their waiter left, moving at a surprisingly fast pace. His speaking, too, had seemed rushed, as though he were nervous.

The restaurant was beginning to fill vacant seats as it approached dinner time.

"In the forest?" Lux said, picking up their conversation where it had left off. "The patrols would have handled it by now, but I haven't heard of any serious problems out there. Not to mention, I didn't take you for a very superstitious person."

Quinn sighed. "I'm not – but when something wants me dead, I take it seriously."

They fell into silence. At the very least, Quinn had voiced her concerns to someone. It felt nice, to share in her troubles. Valor had heard enough of her complaints, throughout the years, and human interaction was something Quinn had always lacked.

Lux flipped back and forth between pages of her menu. "If you wanted, we could head down there later and I'll take a look, see if I can't find anything."

Quinn frowned.

"It was just an offer," Lux rushed to say. "I mean, I already forced you into a meal, so I'd understand if you were tired of me."

"That's not it. I'd actually appreciate the help."

Was Lux too kind for her own good? Quinn had just wanted someone to complain to. She hadn't expected advice, let alone an offer of help. As a noble and champion of the League, Lux had to have been a very busy person, yet she'd insisted on eating supper together, and now was offering more of her time?

Quinn pushed away her suspicion. Mages were cunning. Lux was cunning. But, just this once, she wanted to take things at face value.

"Well," Lux said, eyes sparkling, "I'm glad to hear that."

Nearby, another table was filled by red robed mages.

"Are there usually so many summoners?" Quinn said.

Lux shook her head, looking bothered. "No. We might just have bad luck. What do you think of the lobster special? Interested?"

"Fish isn't for me," Quinn said.

"It's not fish."

Quinn glared at Lux, who was hiding an obvious grin. "I've seen enough of the Demacian coast – I'm not interested in fish unless I'm a couple hours away from starvation."

"Fine, fine. You don't like fish. Or crustaceans. Got it."

"What about you?" Quinn said. "Are you gloating, here, because you'll eat anything?"

Lux flipped to the first page of her menu, scanning the small print with her finger. "My mother did say that a sign of maturity was not being a picky eater, but... here we go, number eleven."

Quinn quickly opened her own menu and searched the list of appetizers. Number eleven was a very modest food, considering the restaurant they were in. "Chips and bean dip? Are you telling me you don't like chips?"

Lux huffed. "No. It's the dip. It has olives in it. I can't stand to eat olives."

"That sounds like a good appetizer," Quinn said, smiling. "I think I'll get that."

"This is what I get for revealing my secrets to you?" Lux said with a mocking gasp before quickly resuming her normal behaviour. "By the way, you didn't want to order any alcohol, did you?"

Quinn shook her head. "I'm not much of a drinker. Why did he even ask us?"

"The sommelier," Lux said, matter-of-factly.

"Come again?"

Lux searched the restaurant, discreetly point out one of the waiters who was dressed slightly different from the rest. "They serve wine. This restaurant only has one sommelier. There's a few places in town where every waiter is an expert, licensed sommelier, but unless you have a real taste for wine and a large pocket, you won't ever be going to those restaurants."

"Sommeliers serve wine, and..." Quinn said, waiting for an addendum.

No one could possibly make a career from pouring alcohol, could they?

But Quinn's silence served another purpose. The restaurant's atmosphere seemed to change in a moment. Though the band continued playing unperturbed, people stopped moving their forks and the tables fell silent as eyes turned to the front entrance of the restaurant. Quinn could feel a shift in magic, as though a powerful, ancient artifact had been dropped into the middle of the room. Everyone else's presence, as thin and weak as they may have been, willfully backed off to be replaced by one much greater.

Two summoners entered the building.

She caught a glimpse of one of their faces. An older man with a grayed beard yet long, spry legs. He wore a purple robe, but the significance of it escaped Quinn. The other was much shorter, adorned in a gray robe like a wise, old wizard from the fantasy books she'd read. The shorter man kept his features hidden, not looking in either direction as he moved forward.

She looked to Lux for an explanation.

"High Summoner Irvin," Lux whispered, eyes narrow as she watched the man in purple robes and his company cross the floor.

And his cohort of bodyguards in red robes, who entered much earlier to secure the building, Quinn realized.

Their own waiter seated the two new arrivals, and slowly the place lost interest and everyone returned to their own meals.

"Is this a common occurrence?" Quinn asked, wishing Lux had chosen a different restaurant.

"No. Not common, no." Lux hesitated a moment. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Quinn repeated, a little incredulous.

"I should have let you pick the restaurant, I seem to have bad luck. I get the impression you'd prefer to avoid summoners. You weren't even assigned an assistant for your first week in the League, were you?"

Quinn did prefer to avoid summoners, but it went beyond just them – not that she would say it aloud.

"I was," Quinn corrected. "Gerrit, I think his name was. I'm supposed to meet with Vessaria soon to review him, or whatever, but we've hardly interacted at all. He did see me to the Summoner's Rift and back, in one piece." _Physically, at least._

Lux raised a brow. "You got the pupil of a High Summoner? Odd. You must have caught Vessaria's attention in some way. I was thinking it strange that she was in your garden, and when I realized she was performing the interview, too, I didn't really know what to think."

Quinn frowned. "You said that last time, too. 'Your garden'. Why do you say it like that?"

Lux set her menu down, though it was more like a large leafed novel than anything else. "Because, it's-"

She stopped mid sentence, a dawning look of realization crossing her face. "You don't know about the Garden of Judgement, do you?"

Quinn bit her tongue, choosing to avoid any sarcasm. Judgement was an ominous word. "No."

"Oh, jeez," Lux said, her forehead creasing. "It's rather confusing, because, you see, it's not actually a garden, but in your case it is."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning the Garden of Judgement is a field, named a garden, that takes the shape of almost anything. Shape-shifting magic," Lux clarified. "It's not a magical artifact, because it's normally just a field of grass. Its transformation is unique and depends on whoever enters its area of effect. There have been lots of theories as to what exactly determines its shape, but anecdotes from the champions of the League indicate that it's nothing so clichéd as to show what you want the most, or what will make you happiest. Like a lot of the magic around Valoran, it's so old that nobody is around who can actually say what its original purpose was. Some people get relaxing places, while others get seemingly random forests or empty villages."

This was all new information to Quinn, and it explained Lux's previous guilt – she had seen something very personal to Quinn.

"But this garden is out in the open, anyone can see it?"

"If you're in the right spot," Lux said. "It's just inside the back entrance, but everyone uses the front door to the Institute of War, and since the Garden only ever transforms for League champions and other worthy people, it's not like anyone is going to watch it twenty-four seven, waiting for the right person to come along. It really was chance that I saw yours - but since we're all such forgiving people, you aren't the least bit bothered by this, right? Right?"

Lux's eyes twinkled mischievously, and Quinn realized that she was completely right, no matter how much she manipulated the situation. They were completely even, except for the two meals that Quinn owed her. But maybe this meal counted as two, considering the accompanying price? Though Quinn wouldn't mind if it only counted as one. In either case, Lux had already experienced the guilt and apologized, and it would feel naive to worry about it any longer.

"Very funny, Lux," she finally said.

With this new information, Quinn realized that Vessaria might have actually taken in interest in her. The High Summoner could potentially be more troubling than she had previously thought. The magical flames and garden had accepted her, but in the end it had been Vessaria who had had the final say.

"So," Quinn said as casually as possible. "What's the garden for you?"

"A beach," Lux responded without hesitation. "Waves crashing into the shore, the sun beating down on the sand as you walk through it, feeling the warm rocks sift between your toes. You step into the reach of the waves, and when they wash up the shore the sudden coldness makes you curl your toes as they're buried underneath the sand and by then the waves are already pulling back, pulling the loose sand back into the ocean and erasing the footsteps of those who'd been there before you, as you stare out at the horizon and the orange sunset."

Lux cleared her throat, blushing a little. "Something like that. Are you ready to order?"

Quinn nodded.

She hadn't expected Lux to actually answer her, but the description brought up a memory that she had all but forgotten. Back when the two of them were fighting Thresh, Lux's protective magic had, for an instant, instilled a very similar image in Quinn. Did Lux like the ocean so much that it even affected her magic?

And that Lux had been so willing to describe her garden – which Quinn couldn't for a moment believe was a lie – did it mean she trusted Quinn? Her words were the truth. She wanted to be Quinn's friend, and this was evidence of it.

Yet still, there was something more she wanted to know about Lux.

_In Ionia, what did you do that the Demacian military hid from the public?_

But Quinn couldn't ask the question. It was either not the right time, or place, or perhaps both. Quinn didn't know, but she wouldn't ask the question. It would almost feel like she was exploiting Lux's kindness. Instead, Quinn should be happy that Lux revealed as much as she did.

And Quinn was.

* * *

"You ordered salad again," Lux complained.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I too boring for you?"

"The complete opposite – but this is your chance to try something new!"

"And Bilgewater prickle fruit _is_ something new."

What was the complete opposite of boring, Quinn wondered?

Somehow, conversation until their food arrived had turned to the champions of the League. Lux started testing her knowledge and filling in the gaps until Quinn began to have a larger image of all the members. Each member seemed to have their own unique abilities and powerful magic, which further cemented Quinn's belief that she was completely out of their league. Which, unfortunately, she wasn't.

Sitting in her cushioned chair in a five star restaurant in the inner district of the largest city in the world, a thought occurred to Quinn. What counted as magic? Because she did have an ability that, though everyone else had, hers seemed to be above average. Her ability to detect magic. It bothered her because she was overly sensitive, but it allowed her to detect magic from a greater distance, or weak magic, like those in the chandeliers far above that gave their candles unending wax pillars.

It was a weakness, distracting her at times, but it could also be used as a strength. Was magic detection not magic?

Their food arrived, and Quinn decided to save the question for another day, knowing Lux would only be too happy to offer her insight.

When Quinn cut into her steak, Lux crinkled her nose. Quinn had ordered it rare, a habit Quinn had learnt from Valor, who would always be done eating before Quinn if she tried to cook her food too long.

The steak was good, Quinn realized as she took a bite. The bison hadn't been killed by magic. A sign of quality meat in the city was that it had lived its entire life without being fattened or processed with magic. In a way, it was odd that a lack of magic was considered high grade, but she wasn't going to complain.

The rest of Quinn's plate consisted of freshly baked buns, steamed potatoes, and a large helping of salad. Lux had opted for the special, even though Quinn hadn't went for the olive dish as she had said she would. The only positive thing she could say about Lux's lobster bisque was that the texture and colour looked pleasing.

Quinn arranged her first bite of salad to contain Bilgewater prickle fruit and cranberry, intent on enjoying her first bite of salad, but the blue eyes from across the table watching her every jaw movement as she chewed was too distracting.

"Is there a problem, Lux?"

"How's the salad? Worthy of a five star restaurant?"

Quinn could hear the teasing in Lux's voice. "Well, actually, I think I'm quite adept at rating salads. I've had them at _every_ restaurant I've ever been to."

Lux smiled. "You have."

"And this merits three stars," Quinn concluded with a quick smirk.

Lux scoffed. "I can't tell if it really is mediocre, you're a harsh critic, or you have terrible taste buds."

"Maybe it's all three."

"It's all three," Lux nodded with finality. "I guess you'll have to give up on being a salad connoisseur."

Quinn shrugged. "I think I could do better, anyways."

"Like what?"

The follow-up question might have been predictable, but Quinn still fell silent. She had already abandoned the quiet farming life, and she hadn't yet looked back to regret the decision, so she certainly wouldn't now.

Many years ago, she had gone through a treasure hunting phase, so to speak, but had failed quite spectacularly at it. The lifestyle had appealed to her, and it still did. Exploring the world and following vague clues and rumours, where a successful hunt would earn a lump sum and several months vacation before it was time to resume her journeys, it was the kind of pacing she wanted out of life.

"A pirate," Quinn said. "And Valor can be my parrot."

Lux giggled. "If that's the way things are, then maybe I should introduce you to Sarah."

"Who?" Quinn said.

"Miss Fortune," Lux clarified. "Her Bilgewater title somehow followed her to the League."

They had just discussed Bilgewater's champions, but Lux hadn't mentioned Miss Fortune's first name, nor that they were close. What Quinn did know was the Miss Fortune juggled the three most popular career choices in Bilgewater: pirate, bounty hunter, and treasure hunter. She had found unnatural success in all her ventures, and people feared her because of it.

"And what about you?" Quinn said. "Is being a champion of the League your lifelong ambition?"

"If so, I would have a pretty boring life," Lux said. "At least, compared to yours. But being a champion of the League is a lifelong career. There's one hundred and eleven of us. None of us have yet to retire, and I don't exactly know how it would go, to call it quits. Speaking of which, Quinn, I want to know something." Lux's voice turned serious. She wrapped her hands together and leaned forward on the table. "What are you doing here? Are you going to fight on the Rift again? Are you representing Demacia, or are you independent? Prince Jarvan won't talk to me about you, but I think he's just as unsure as anyone else."

"That's-" Quinn stumbled, unsure of what to say.

Was that what the dinner was about? The opposite of boring was unpredictable? Had Lux been ordered by Jarvan to investigate her?

"Don't look at me like that," Lux said, dispelling her thoughts. "I'm not just asking for Demacia. No one knows who you are, really. Most people don't believe you're from a rural Demacian village, and we're keeping quiet on the matter but you aren't even living with us. If you don't make things clear, people are going to keep watching you and rumours are going to spread. I know politics aren't your thing – they aren't mine either, sometimes it's easier to act as pieces to be controlled – but no one knows who's controlling you. I – I just thought maybe telling me would be easier. You haven't had a debriefing with the military yet, so we don't even know what you did during the month you were gone."

"You want to know what I'm doing?" Quinn said.

Lux nodded hesitantly.

"I don't know what the _hell_ I'm doing," Quinn said, the thought of people not believing her background angering her. "I was thinking of apologizing to you and then making my way out of town, but now if I leave, I'll be killed. If I stay, I'll probably be wrapped up in another battle on the Rift and lose my sanity, if someone like Sivir doesn't kill me first. Or Noxus. Or you guys." Lux winced, but Quinn didn't stop. "I've no fealty to Demacia. Your brother hates me and the military or nobles – hell if I know – want me dead and I can't count Jarvan as a friend any longer."

Beneath the table, Quinn balled her fists. It was anger and bitterness that she felt, thinking of Prince Jarvan. Their friendship had died slowly, ever since he promoted her to first sergeant, but she hadn't even spared a thought for it.

In retrospect, it was obvious. She had never wanted a promotion – though the money was a boon, she didn't care for social status and the army meant nothing to her, aside from a place to hone her skills. Jarvan painted a target on her back, when he gave her the promotion. He drew attention to her, even though he should have known it would be the last thing that Quinn would want. And Quinn resented him a little, for doing that, and it reflected in her interactions with him.

Quinn decided to keep going, considering she'd already denounced her kingdom. "And I can feel Valor slipping away every minute I spend inside this _damned_ city, but now I can't go anywhere outside its walls because something out there wants me dead. And the fact that I'm even saying this to you, despite hardly knowing you, is because I have no one else to say it to, and-"

Something was off.

Quinn jumped to her feet, looking around the room.

Vacuum. Emptiness.

The atmosphere had changed. She realized she could no longer feel it pushing her back. The magic. Her eyes quickly located the table of the High Summoner and his companion.

Nothing looked amiss. They were in the midst of eating their meal. Quinn watched as a wave of confusion washed over the summoners in the room. They noticed it too. Lux stood up, alarm registering on her face.

By then, Quinn could see it. The High Summoner's hand wasn't moving. His fork halfway to his mouth, he sat frozen. Another second or two passed, where Quinn expected to see his arm waver, or any movement on his part.

Simultaneously, she knew it wouldn't happen. His presence was gone.

A shrill scream echoed through the dinner, and in unison all the summoners rose to their feet, ready to fight. The band at the front stage stopped, and once the scream stopped, the building fell into quiet whispers. Still, the High Summoner didn't move. His companion jumped to his feet and made for the exit. Rather than running, he appeared to glide silently across the floor at an alarming speed. No one stopped him, as everyone rushed to the High Summoner's side.

"He's dead!?" someone shouted, though everyone else already knew.

"Secure the body," another shouted. "Don't let his acquaintance escape. Spread out, lock the place down. Lock the city down!"

Quinn wasn't the murderer, but that didn't stop her from panicking. Getting involved with the summoners was a bad idea. Earlier, she had scanned the place for all exits, so she knew exactly where to go.

She stepped away from the table and towards a side exit, but a hand reached for her.

"Quinn," Lux hissed. "Leaving will only make things worse. They already know we were here."

The opportunity was lost. A summoner appeared beside them, his robes swaying from the rushed movement. Recognition crossed his face as he saw Lux, and he stared hard at Quinn, and she could tell he was preparing magic, ready to attack if she even moved wrong.

"Come with me," he said, his eyes locked on Quinn.

All the guests, waiters, and chefs were corralled into the middle of the room, with a ring of summoners surrounding them. It startled Quinn how quickly they could bring order to such a large place.

"Stick close," Lux whispered to her.

The crowd was being sorted, as summoners identified nobles and moved them aside to be questioned further.

The implications of what had happened weren't immediately apparent, but Quinn had the feeling that this wasn't going to be an isolated, forgotten event. Something was building up, and everyone knew it. Had Quinn just witnessed the catalyst to a world war?

A passing summoner breathed a name to one of his peers, and Quinn flinched. A chill ran through her body. Beside her, Lux reacted by grabbing her hand.

Cassiopeia Du Couteau.

_Du Couteau._

Petrification. Whether it was true or not, the rumours would spread like wildfire. Yet only Quinn would see farther than everyone else when they heard the story. Only Quinn saw the possibility. Cassiopeia could have been acting on behalf of her father, who was still thought of as dead by the world. It could have been his first step to fulfilling his promise – but to start with bloodshed didn't bode well for the new world he sought.

And it was all conjecture. There were countless other explanations. A Noxian murdering a High Summoner was cause for war. If someone wanted to frame Noxus, it was the perfect way to do so. It could have been a distraction. It might have been Swain taking the first, reckless move. He was similar to Du Couteau, in that he'd been biding his time. They were master strategists, and they had all the time in the world to plan.

"Names," a summoner said, approaching them.

"Luxanna Crownguard."

"Quinn Attridge."

He failed to hide his sense of apprehension when Quinn spoke. Had she already become a suspect?

"Ms Crownguard, please check out with Summoner Rohan," he said, indicating a line of people over his shoulder.

Lux didn't move, and Quinn realized they were still holding hands. She quickly shook her hand free, but Lux didn't step away. When the summoner cleared his throat, and Quinn gave Lux a nudge, she still didn't move to the line. Instead, her eyes bored into the summoner and he hesitated for a moment before reluctantly turning to Quinn.

"Ms Attridge, what is your business in Senta?"

"She's a champion of the League," Lux finally exploded, as though expecting the question. "How dare you question her!"

The man winced and stole a reappraising glance at Quinn, but didn't back down. "She was also was the first to move after High Summoner Irvin's... incident. I've spoken with others about it – most suspicious, when there's a full hall of people in between. She'll need to be questioned further before we can let her go."

Lux fumed, but before anyone could say anything else, a familiar voice called through the crowd.

"Heya, Ben? How's it going? Thanks for, uh, handling the guests, but I'll take over now."

Gerrit slipped between two nobles and joined the trio, looking harried. He ducked as someone shouted his name.

"Ben," Gerrit said. "Sounds like someone needs you. Don't worry, I have things handled here. Vessaria's orders."

"Gerrit, I think they were… never mind. I'll handle it."

Ben rushed off, as Lux gave Quinn a quizzical glance. She apparently recognized the name, but had a hard time believing it. Quinn shrugged in response.

Vessaria had chosen a very questionable pupil.


	13. Insight: Vessaria

The realization that she was older than the Institute of War hit her like a bullet. At the youthful age of twenty-four, she stood at its gates, staring up at the large buildings with a sense of trepidation. She felt anything but young. Her life had been full of adventure and activity since she'd been a child, from her time at sea, fighting criminals and monsters of the deep, to her time as an ambassador to Noxus. She had seen her closest friends breath their last breaths, and she had kicked the last breath out of her enemies, watching them bleed out at her feet.

She had had enough action to last a normal person several lifetimes, and when she stood next to the world's most powerful magic and buildings, she couldn't believe they had existed for a mere sixteen years. It was almost a crime, for all the kingdoms to so readily submit to the Institute, when it was but the equivalent of a baby. A powerful one, but still immature. It spoke to the insecurities of people, that they bowed down to the first choice they were presented.

Vessaria eyed the guards of the gate carefully. They wouldn't let her in. The security was top notch. Despite the guards not wearing armour, like the city guards, and were seemingly empty handed, Vessaria knew they were lethal. She didn't know how – one might have had a mastery of fire, and the other the ability to distort space and gravity, but there was no chance she could walk in without trouble.

It wasn't her plan, though. Her business was with the Door of Acceptance, which was located at the eastern entrance, meaning she would need to backtrack and walk for another half hour or so. She didn't mind, though. Walking through Senta was always an interesting activity.

The Door of Acceptance wasn't anything like she had imagined. Perhaps it was because the people of Bilgewater weren't easily impressed, but when they spoke of the golden door, they always sounded disinterested and bored of the subject. In person, the Door was enough to leave her awestruck. It was a massive, golden barrier. It had to have weighed more than the entire city, because it seemed to hang over her like a tsunami, ready to crush her and flatten everything. She took a couple steps back, diverting her eyes.

Its magical presence was ominous, too, but few people seemed intimidated. Those who didn't realize the greatness of the Door weren't likely to stand a chance, and, in their ignorance, they didn't realize that lining up for their turn was hopeless. Vessaria sat on the grass, in the shade of a tree. It was early morning, the air brisk and the dew on the shady grass wet the butt of her jeans. She adjusted her position until her back was resting against the tree, and then turned her attention forward.

Her intentions were to watch for a few minutes, until the line emptied a little more and she felt calmer. At the half hour mark, she was still watching. The flames hadn't changed colour yet, and one after another, the people left, disappointed. Her stomach growled, and she realized she might have dozed off for a few moments.

When lunch arrived, she hadn't moved an inch. Her body would be sore from keeping still so long, but the air had warmed and the grass was soft. She didn't want to stand up, not yet. The line grew to ten people, the largest it had been all day, and Vessaria spent her time analyzing the 'contestants', as she grew fond of thinking of them.

Her trip to Senta must have tired her more than she thought, because she fell asleep again. When she woke, it was to almost complete silence. Crickets had taken up their song, among the bushes at the top of the plaza, and everything was basking in the orangish glow of a sun setting over the kingdom of Noxus. She stared off into the distance, under the sun, and felt a growing anger rise within her. If she had more power, or even money to hire power, she would walk with an army and destroy the kingdom and everything it stood for.

She would kill the council, execute any remaining royalty, and demolish the castles. She would hunt down every flag, and pile them together and burn them in a massive bonfire, and declare the end of Noxus, because it had taken away all she had ever had and all she had ever wanted.

"You failed," a voice said.

Vessaria snapped her head towards the Institute. A man was approaching her, his red robes billowing in a gentle breeze that she hadn't previously noticed. It took her a second to clumsily climb to her feet, fighting the tingling sensation in her half-asleep legs. Leaning against the tree, she watched the man carefully, realizing he was the source of the wind. She had watched him for the greater part of the day, and his presence, combined with her recent rest, meant she was completely alert.

He reminded her of an Ionian monk. The man was barefoot, and red robes covered most of his body. His face was wrinkled and his hair graying, as though he was in an all out war against age, which was odd, considering magic could easily combat the visual side effects of aging. His eyes were unfocused as he stared off into the distance, where Vessaria had been looking a moment earlier. She watched his brown eyes for a few seconds, before they flickered back to her, as though they were in the middle of a conversation.

"You're a High Summoner," she said, clearing her throat after it came out slightly raspy.

He nodded. "I am High Summoner Irvin. I was overseeing the Door today. I was expecting you to try, but you never did."

Vessaria looked around the plaza, realizing they were the only two people remaining. She took a step away from the tree to glance down into the city proper. It was still lively. The restaurants, with their massive chimneys exuding columns of smoke and large torches at their entrances, showed the most life. There were smaller lights, coming from windows of the residences, but it surprised Vessaria that the city was going to bed so early.

Beyond the houses, she could see empty fields and wooden structures, posts and support beams that outlined future houses. The amount of construction work that had been going on during the day only proved how quickly Senta was growing. Within a few years, it was very possible the city would become the largest in the world.

"I'm in no rush. Maybe tomorrow." Her voice took on a harder tone. "And what do you mean I failed?"

"I saw you this morning. I watched you this afternoon. And I approach you this evening. The Door is an intimidating thing, and you were well advised to get your thoughts in order before you challenged it, but I come to you now, at the end of the day, and you are still angry. Or at least, you were. It seems you'd best not dwell on the past."

"I'll dwell on what I please."

"And... did you learn anything, sitting quietly and watching?" he said, managing to not make it sound like a query at all, but rather a simple fact.

Vessaria shrugged, but didn't feel the need to oppose him anymore. "There were lots of people, but why is it done this way? It was obvious most of them had no control over magic whatsoever. It seems inefficient to let everyone try."

Irvin turned to the Door, holding out an empty fist. The air around his hand shimmered, and a wooden staff appeared in his grip. Vessaria tensed before realizing he had no intention of using it. He simply rested it on the grass, leaning against it like a crutch. She had the rogue thought that kicking it would result in him collapsing and breaking a hip. His insistence on appearing feeble confused her.

"It's about equal opportunity, I believe. Humans are fallible. We shouldn't judge who is worthy of representing on the world's stage. While the Door has proven troublesome before, it can see the potential in us much better than we can. A homeless man without coin or family to his name won't be dismissed by the Door because of his stature, just like how this is the only door that isn't assured to open for a king."

In silence, the two of them watched the Door, as if expecting it to react to their intense stares.

"I won't be here tomorrow, but I would like to see," Irvin said.

"The Door is scary."

"It is."

Together, they approached it. High Summoner Irvin took his spot once more, pulling a small hourglass from his hand.

"You may approach the Door," he said in the same tone she'd heard hundreds of times that day.

* * *

Vessaria took the quill in hand, clutching it tighter when she could see it visibly shaking. The quill was large, perhaps scavenged from a Demacian eagle. It was longer than the point of her index finger to her elbow, and its weight meant she had trouble keeping it upright. Once it was dabbed in the ink provided, she had two false starts before she settled it onto the paper, quickly scrawling her signature down. Her cursive wasn't the best, but she had practiced for this moment many times, albeit not with such ludicrous stationery.

When she finished, she carefully set the quill aside, parallel to the now signed paper. In silence, everyone waited for the ink to dry. It wasn't supposed to be a momentous affair, that would be later, but rather it was the necessary paperwork. Still, she felt accomplished. For the first time in four years, since the Door had rejected her, Vessaria was hopeful about her future.

"Congratulations," High Summoner Irvin said, waking everyone present from the reverie that had descended upon the small room. "You've already done great things for the Institute, and I hope you continue to work hard, but now, as my equal."

The clerk reached forward, gingerly pulling the now signed document into his portfolio.

Vessaria smiled. As she stood up, she felt an inexplicable calm descend over her. Many people worked hard their entire lives, only for their work to never pay off. She had made great steps in such little time, and all the while she had been questioning herself, wondering if it would all be for naught. Even if her newfound powers weren't enough, at least she wouldn't worry she had let the opportunity pass.

"High Summoner Irvin, I still have much to learn, and though I may now be your peer, your wisdom is unparalleled. It is my hope that you will continue to guide me on the next step of my life."

* * *

_What is god?_

The question hung over Vessaria as she walked through the halls of the Institute of War. Summoners stopped in their tracks to bow to her, but she didn't divert her eyes from her path.

Everyone had their own answer to the question.

While not common knowledge, Shurima had many gods. These gods weren't creators, nor omniscient super beings. They were powerful and few, and they fought in wars, preferring to take human form as they delivered punishment to the non believers. The quantity of wars faded with time, and so did the presence of these gods, but they weren't forgotten. Walking through abandoned cities in the Shurima desert, it was common to find pottery and etchings devoted to these mighty beings.

Noxus and Piltover had a single god, believed by a few to be the very same. It may have stemmed from the early days, before Zaun was founded, when they enjoyed a mutually beneficial trade agreement. Their god was said to have created life on Runeterra, after arriving on the bleak and rocky planet. Ionia, Demacia, and the other kingdoms and city states all had their own beliefs, too.

Senta wasn't a kingdom, nor officially a city state, but it was a melting pot of cultures from around the world, and some people looked at the Institute of War as not merely a governing power, but as a new god, whom regulated every kingdom on Runeterra. What did that make her, when she was one of three people at the top of the Institute?

* * *

"Gerrit, ma'am."

"You're top of your graduating class," Vessaria said. "Best marks we've seen in several years. I'm already aware of your history, but I can't see into the future."

Gerrit looked around nervously. He was young, not even twenty years of age, but he had a solid grasp on magic, and almost more importantly, politics. He had shown motivation, yet she couldn't sense in what direction he was moving. While his social skills still required work, he would soon be a force to be reckoned with.

"Are you asking me what I plan to do, now?" he said.

Vessaria nodded.

"Move my stuff out of Zaun."

"I'm more interested in your long term plans."

Gerrit bit his lip. "Look, you can't tell anyone what I'm about to say. You see, I've been working on something in secret, and recently the Zaunite Council has been sniffing around. They'll confiscate it at first chance, I think, but moving it out of the city will be a monumental task. It could take as long as a year, and once it's done I need to rebuild it somewhere else-"

"Here."

"Yes, here, if I can get the required permits. And once it's rebuilt, well, I'll continue my work on it. Maybe finish it, maybe die before I do, I don't know."

Vessaria contemplated his words. He was talking about a lifelong project, and those tended to be dangerous.

"I see," Vessaria said. "And what exactly is this project of yours?"

* * *

_...but I have never once called into question your love for me, and that is where I find my drive. I look forward to the day you learn to accept that death shouldn't be feared, and the day when we can then be together again._

Vessaria left the quill on the piece of paper, blotting the final period as she became lost in thought. Perhaps the day would come sooner that she imagined. With a sigh, she put the quill aside, and filed the paper into her desk.

It was foolish, to write when she had no address for the recipient. And even if she did, would she sent it? Not likely. There were other matters to take care of, first.

* * *

"I've got some good news, and some bad news," Gerrit said, seating himself in her guest chair.

"I'll take the good news first," she said.

Gerrit hesitated a moment. "It doesn't work like that. You're supposed to take the bad news first and then make it less bad with the good news."

"I said I wanted the good news."

"It's not going to make sense without hearing the bad news first."

"I don't care."

"Okay, fine then, here goes. The Zaunite Council says they _aren't_ going to turn it into a bomb."

Vessaria collapsed her head into her hands. "What on Runeterra have you done?"

* * *

The Garden of Judgement had taken on the form of a botanical garden.

They walked along the garden's path in silence, Vessaria trying to get a read on the girl. Young, she was outwardly nonthreatening, but carried herself with a confident air, not unlike her companion who flew in the sky far above them. Her head was constantly moving from side to side as she examined her surroundings, taking in probably more than the average champion of the League of Legends would.

Vessaria had taken an immediate dislike to her.

She wasn't taking the interview seriously, and she had seemed surprised that the Door opened for her. It was jealousy, to be sure, but Vessaria was also questioning whether the Door hadn't made an honest mistake. Unfortunately, no matter how she tried, she couldn't twist logic enough for it to be possible. The Door had successfully created over one hundred champions prior to Quinn, so there was no reason to believe it had malfunctioned.

* * *

Valor let out a piercing cry as he descended from the sky. She watched intently, ready to act if he showed signs of attacking. Instead, he stopped in front of her, large wings beating against the ground to hover at eye level. She hesitated. He was a Demacian eagle, surely there was nothing behind this action, aside from defending his companion? His eyes stared at her, and she find herself unable to look away. Gravelly white eyes, with a pure black iris of an intensity she couldn't have imagined coming from a bird. She was clearly being welcomed, but that in itself disturbed her.

Nonetheless, Vessaria acted.

A vast forest of green, unmarred by man and replete with wildlife. Trees reaching up to the sky, their trunks as wide as houses and their bark thick enough to protect from any attacks. From Valor's eyes, she watched as he travelled from the forest, and then upwards. He travelled up the mountains and through the clouds, past the snow capped peaks in the freezing, thin atmosphere. Beyond the Great Barrier, Valor arrived at a desert.

Within the desert, a thriving city of people.

Urtistan, as it was five centuries ago, before it had been wiped off the map by the First Rune War. The city was clearly in its heydays.

The people, most powerful chronomancers or mages, or at the very least related to one, led startlingly normal lives. The children laughed and played with each other and their toys in the morning and evenings, but were condemned to schools made of sandstone during the afternoons, where they were taught an assortment of subjects not unlike present-time schools. The wives stayed home, cleaning the house, washing the laundry, or preparing supper.

There were obvious deviations from the norm, such as the cloth on the clothesline drying in minutes, rather than hours – and Vessaria suspected it wasn't due to the desert's heat, as much as it was magic being used to assist in the chores. The caravans were pulled by camels, yet they glided light as a feather across the bumpy and dusty roads within the city.

All in all, it wasn't a dangerous city of violent, magic obsessed people. The gates weren't closed to outsiders – in fact, there weren't any city gates at all, nor were there any walls to enclose the city. Urtistan wasn't a solitary congregation of people, as the history books so oft loved to claim.

Valor's memories, jumping from one scene to another, sometimes so fast she couldn't make sense of what she was seeing, settled on a man. The Demacian eagle's companion, Vessaria surmised. She was thankful that it wasn't Quinn, nor any familiar face for that matter. The man looked to be forty or so, well built but not over-muscular, and surprisingly pale for living in a desert. One of his eyes was unfocused and glassy, indicating blindness.

The scenes continued moving, mingling, and disappearing. Both eagle and man were travelling. The Fyrone flatlands weren't flatlands, but windy and covered in dunes. They passed through an oasis, the man pausing to draw more water into the small lake with his magic before they continued on their way. South of the Great Barrier, the two travelled to countless places, running into enemies and acquaintances and fighting monsters that lived deep in the jungles and swamps.

The remaining memories were compacted into a span of terrifying, heart-stopping scenes.

They were back in Urtistan.

Despite Vessaria being so far distant from it, she couldn't help but shiver as, over the horizon, an army approached. The only army in the world powerful enough, and brave enough, to challenge the chronomancers of Urtistan. They covered the dunes with great speed, unimpeded by the billions of grains of sand that sank beneath their feet. Like water, they flowed forth, hundreds of thousands of them blackening the horizon and darkening the desert. Their machines, large contraptions that Vessaria couldn't begin to ponder their purpose, drew ever closer. No sound accompanied the image, but she saw drummers and couldn't not hear their drum's beat as they marched to war.

The chronomancers stepped outside their city, forming a human barrier. There were pitifully few of them, compared to the invading army. Behind the chronomancers, a clock tower rose up far above the city's buildings. The clock was massive, the hands large enough that the invaders would be able to read the time from where they stood, on the horizon. If historians could be believed, it was within that very tower that Zilean was trapped in a time stasis, conjured by himself while he explored the depths of time and magic itself.

And then, the air around the chronomancers shimmered, and as though surrounded by charged wires, electricity crackled around them. Despite not being there, and sight being the only sense available, Vessaria could tell the atmosphere was charged with powerful, unparalleled magic. The conjuration continued, even as several of the magic users collapsed into the sand, their magical reserves dry. The electricity began to show pattern. It took the shape of a sphere, twice as wide as the city's oasis, and it rose into the air between the two armies. The sky was cloudless, yet somehow it seemed to blot out the sun, darkening the desert as though it were night. All the while, the wind grew stronger. The sand, disturbed, whipped up and dusted the horizon. The grains began spinning clockwise around the circumference of the sphere, and Vessaria realized she was watching a massive, unnatural tornado take shape.

Valor rose above the armies until the individual people weren't distinguishable and the city under siege was completely in his sight. Utterly devastating, yet cloudless, the tornado dove into the opposing army. Anarchy broke out among the attackers as the columns of soldiers tried to move out of the way. Men were physically lifted off the ground as sand grated their skin and flayed them. Silent screams echoed through the desert as soldiers were thrown away like rag-dolls, and then everything went dark.

Vessaria stood, frozen, in the Garden of Judgement.

Valor blinked at her, as if to ask if she understood – and she didn't – before he left, returning to his position in the skies above. She didn't move her head, and she didn't blink, afraid she might forget the fantastical images she had just seen.

It was almost impossible to believe, but the tornado hadn't been enough to win the battle. History recorded what came next, and the attacking army supposedly defeated the chronomancers, looting the city and demolishing it, leaving only ruins in their wake. It had been the final battle of the First Rune War.

"Uh, I suppose I'll be going now."

Quinn's words woke her.

"Yes, yes," Vessaria said, the words sounding funny to her ears.

While she held no interest in Quinn – in fact, the girl's lack of responsibility bothered her – but Valor was a puzzle which she wouldn't let escape. She would solve his mystery. Truth, or deception, she would figure out how an animal had come to have such amazing scenes locked within its mind.

* * *

Vessaria looked in both directions down the corridor. No one was visible. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes for a moment. It took a few seconds before anything happened, but she could feel the magic begin to form. A thin layer coating her skin, permeable. It would absorb intense heat and cold, protecting her from fluctuations in the environment. The spell was simple, taught in the first year of Summoner training, yet infinitely useful because of the existence of people like Brand and things like Anivia, and the guest she was about to welcome.

At her fingertips, she conjured a flame and brought it beneath her chin. She felt nothing. Satisfied, Vessaria dispelled the fire and put a key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door. Descending the stairs, she knew the temperature was getting gradually colder. The lights flickered. They were old, and used electricity rather than fire. The basement room itself wasn't used often, and its original purpose was an interrogation chamber. Putting a guest in such a room had given her pause, but Dandridge had insisted their guest wouldn't care in the least.

For some, environment mattered so little it couldn't even be construed as an insult or intimidating tactic.

The concrete room was sparsely decorated, or rather not at all. A single wood table was in the middle of the room, with four chairs. Only one was occupied, and it was by their guest. Stone benches were positioned against each wall, and sitting in each bench was a Summoner. They all stood at attention when Vessaria entered. She examined the dismally grey room, before approaching the table.

"Welcome to the Institute of War, Lissandra. I am High Summoner Vessaria, acting on behalf of the institute for today's meeting."

Lissandra nodded her head.

She wasn't human, or so everyone concluded. She took the shape of a human, but the proportions were all wrong, like a toy doll that little girls played with. Her neck with unnaturally thin and long, and her head had very sharp contours, like it had been chipped from a block of ice. Her skin was a cloudy blue – that was to say, white at first glance, but a hint azure if someone was brave enough to take a closer look.

She wore armor of a very dark blue, but at a glance the material wasn't distinguishable. The armor spiked at her shoulders, and only protected her arms up to her elbows. Her fingers were long, spindly appendages with fingernails in great need of cutting, though Vessaria suspected they were used _for_ cutting, and were much stronger than the average person's nail.

Perhaps the most startling feature of the ice queen were her eyes. They were a deep red that contrasted her with the rest of her body, but they weren't staring at her with any intensity, nor were they examining to room or trying to be intimidating. They were surprisingly normal and unchampion-like. Dare Vessaria even classify them as innocent, or friendly?

Perhaps, if Lissandra had once been human, those were her original eyes, and everything else had undergone a transformation as she turned into the ice witch that she was now. But there were more important matters than dwelling on Lissandra's past. She had arrived at the Institute of War late last night, walking unnoticed through the city and through the front gates until a Summoner stopped her and nearly suffered a heart attack when realizing whose shoulder spikes he had just grabbed.

"Why did you come here?" Vessaria asked, finally, after a minute of silence had passed. Even as she spoke, her breath fogged the room and she realized it wasn't just cold, but actually freezing temperature. Lissandra's aura was something to be feared, even when it mingled with all the magic within the Institute.

"An acquaintance told me," Lissandra said. Her voice was even, if a little quiet.

Vessaria pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing her legs. "You're telling me you came here on someone else's orders?"

The other Summoners in the room shifted their feet restlessly, and Vessaria thought that maybe the room had dropped an additional degree. She almost wished she had thought to bring a thermostat with her. Vessaria, however, didn't react. She waited patiently for a response. They were on thin ice, literally, as it were, by taking in the guest. Protocol didn't support using such secretive measures, but Vessaria wanted to interview Lissandra before the general public had a chance to do anything. The media was stupid, and if not provided with an explanation, tomorrow's headlines would read: 'Immortal Ice Witch from Freljord Comes to Subjugate the Institute of War'.

"It wasn't an order," Lissandra said, resting her hands flat against the table. "It was a fact. Coming here would shorten the path I take."

Vessaria gave a minute shake of her head. There was no need to ask about the path, everyone already knew that Lissandra was attempting to restore the ice age of centuries ago, when all the land above the Great Barrier was glaciers and ice, hospital only to a few clans of humans. Lissandra was doubtlessly a true threat to the world. She had the experience of combat from hundreds of years of violence, and rumour was that she was especially conniving. Her presence at the Institute would be a headache for everyone involved.

Unfortunately, during an emergency meeting earlier in the day, it had been determined that Vessaria was responsible for deeming Lissandra as 'safe'. What exactly that entailed, no councilor or either Dandridge or Irvine could tell her. She had to use her own judgement and hope there wouldn't be any icy stalactites impaling civilians during their daily routines tomorrow.

"The Institute of War has rules to ensure the safety of people and the proper administration of power," Vessaria began.

She continued, and it took her half an hour to read the rules and laws of the land. All the while, Lissandra seemed to be paying attention, making the occasional eye contact and nod of the head to show she was listening. After mentally checking off every item on the list, Vessaria fell silent. She spent a minute ensuring that she'd caught every point she intended on saying.

After the laws, came the reason for Lissandra's visit. It was a monumental task for only Vessaria to handle, but perhaps for that reason she trusted only herself, and not Irvine or Dandridge, to do it. She believed Irvin relied too much on prior experience and Dandridge his instinct to handle situations, but this required caution at all times. Lissandra had little input as the discussion continued. One of the Summoners was diligently taking notes, but his magic shielding must have been completely saturated, because he was sketching out the plans with numb fingers and a shivering body.

The process took two hours, and went surprisingly well.

"Then you will agree to the terms laid forth by the Institute of War?"

"Would you rather I not?"

Vessaria gave a brisk smile, before clenching her teeth. She was beginning to feel the cold. "We are a neutral power, only here to mediate between kingdoms. My opinion on this matter is irrelevant."

The woman gave a chilling laugh. It was the first sign of hostility since their meeting began, and the four Summoners tensed, as though they expected a fight.

"To pretend my arrival has little significance would be a fatal mistake, High Summoner. In fact, I know some are already curious."

"Curious? As to what?"

"Your institute is young. Compared to me, it is but a child, yet so many people believe that whomever the Institute declares worthy will become the true queen of Freljord. For the earth itself to recognize the Institute, is that not the birth of a new god?"

* * *

High Summoner Irvin had been important to her, and when the news arrived, the first thing Vessaria did was try to deny reality.

The second thing she did was entertain the idea of altering the past. This had resulted in Dandridge slapping her and reminding her of their duties. She couldn't take offense to the action, because Dandridge and Irvin had been best friends. He, if anyone, had the right to sulk, but he was already organizing an investigations team. With a few curt words, she was sent to her office and told Quinn, a suspect in the murder, would be sent in shortly.

In the meantime, she read the report on her desk.

Irvin was a close friend of hers, and while she felt numb at the moment, she wouldn't know if she would be able to fall asleep tonight without showing at least some tears. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, his condition wasn't curable. He was destined to die, when the petrification wore off, and she would then grieve a second time, when that happened.

An intelligent and respectable man, Irvin had a knack for teaching, and every Summoner, young and old, learned from him. They were supposedly equal, but so much of Vessaria's knowledge came from him. When she tracked down Irvin's killer, their last memory would be of Bilgewater's Walls. Vessaria promised herself that. If it meant a detour from her goal of toppling the Noxian empire, then so be it. She had dedicated the past five years of her life to it. A few weeks distraction could only do her good.

The door opened. Gerrit and Quinn entered. With a wave of her hand, she sent Gerrit away. He would be busy; there was no reason to delay him.

"Take a seat, please," Vessaria set as she rearranged papers on her desk, aligning them against its edge.

Quinn was an odd individual. A liar who always seemed wary of her surroundings, yet who knew so little. She was supposedly from Demacia, yet her own kingdom's heroes scorned her, and she showed no allegiance towards them. If Vessaria was to be honest, Quinn didn't belong at the League. It was her companion, who'd seen the world as it was five centuries ago, that Vessaria respected.

More than once, in the past few days, she had found her idle attention drifting towards what she had seen in Valor's eyes, during the interview. The memories had been fuzzy and disjointed, but they had shown a puzzle that Vessaria was determined to solve.

Quinn was staring at her hair, and Vessaria realized she hadn't properly prepared for a guest. With a quick motion, she brushed her hand through her hair, turning it from red to brown. She examined a lock of hair, to ensure it was the right shade.

"I'm a little envious of your purple hair," Vessaria said, delaying their upcoming conversation. "It looks good no matter what you're wearing. For me, I actually have to put effort into it. Red hair and red robes don't go well together, I discovered early on."

Quinn looked uncomfortable, as if unsure how to respond to Vessaria's oblique compliment. Vessaria smiled, leaning back. On a fundamental level, Quinn bothered her. There were people who loved their kingdom and devoted everything to it, and those who proudly called themselves independent, shirking the obligation to their kingdom or city state. Quinn was neither of these. She wasn't brave enough to declare herself independent, and she showed no respect to her kingdom. Vessaria couldn't believe that Quinn held a high ranking position in the Demacian army.

The Door didn't open for her, when she had given herself an important task, yet it opened for Quinn, who had no clear goal in life and who didn't even _want_ the Door to open. There was obviously a reason behind it, but Vessaria couldn't get over how unfair it seemed.

Finally, the girl spoke. "I didn't kill him."

Vessaria already knew that.

"We'll talk about Irvin's fate in a moment, but there are other things I want to discuss. You are, after all, a new champion of the League of Legends. I haven't spoken to you since the interview, have I? I heard Sivir attacked you during your introduction, but that you handled it quite well. Despite the League's generous pay, she's still an active mercenary, so don't take it personally. It's likely someone else wanted to test you, or kill you.

"Yeah, I'm already aware that there are people who want me dead."

"Aside from Noxians?"

Quinn nodded, but said no more.

"It may be a few days early," Vessaria said, "but we're both here, so I'd like to hear your opinion on Gerrit. It is my intention to fast track him through to the council, and if he plays his cards right, perhaps he'll one day become a High Summoner. He may replace me, some time in the future."

"I haven't really spoken with him much," Quinn said.

"That's not what I asked. Tell me your opinion of him."

"I don't know. He's good, I guess."

Vessaria refrained from sighing or showing any signs of irritation. It was her own fault for looking for insightful feedback from the girl. Assuming Gerrit's project, which had fallen into the hands of the Zaunite Council, didn't cause any global disasters, she would still push for him to work towards joining the council. Beyond that, it was up to him. Vessaria would find another pupil, another who shared her hatred for Noxus, and the training process would repeat.

"I've heard you rejected a house on Demacia avenue," Vessaria said. "If you want, I could change your status to 'independent'. Usually, it's assumed a champion's allegiance is to their home kingdom, so I didn't ask you, but it takes little effort to change the records."

"What exactly does it mean, to be independent?"

"Not much," Vessaria admitted. "I suppose your pay would increase, if your home kingdom taxes your income – which Demacia does."

In fact, and Vessaria wasn't sure if Quinn was aware of it, but the Demacian king rose taxes again for the second time in a one year time frame, spurning riots in the streets from small businesses that were struggling to get by. Demacia was one of the only kingdoms left that was run by a monarchy, rather than some form of government with a council. It said a lot that both Zaun and Noxus had already abolished their monarchies and were run by a council of people, while the Demacian royal family insisted on staying in power, despite the growing discontent of their people.

Aside from Freljord, which would very soon return to a monarchy, albeit possibly in a very broken state, all the other kingdoms and city states had a proper governments.

Vessaria continued. "It also means no one needs to ask your ambassador for permission to recruit you into a rooster. They'll deal directly with you. The largest difference, in my opinion, is the public's opinion, which I suspect you care little for. There are a handful of smaller things, but the benefits and hindrances of such would be up to you to discover. Are you interested?"

Quinn hesitated. "Can I think about it?"

"Yes." Vessaria's dislike of Quinn only grew. Of course the girl would hesitate. She didn't even know if she wanted to remain loyal to Demacia. "Now, onto current matters. High Summoner Dandridge is in charge of the investigation, but for some reason he wants me to interview you, who, in his opinion, is suspect number one in the attack on High Summoner Irvin."

"I didn't do it. There was another man there, his companion," Quinn said, sounding desperate. "What about him?"

High Summoner Dandridge had informed her of the peculiar news. Irvin's companion, who was very likely no longer still in Valoran, was the primary creator of Suuntaava, the orb which connected their world to the Fields of Justice, and one of the three original High Summoners. His name was Rayburn Cardwell, and he was a man well past his years. His visit to Senta, a secret only known to few people, brought great concern to his successors. Unfortunately, things had turned south and he bolted before he'd had a chance to explain why he was there. A warning, he had told Irvin before the attack, but that was all they knew.

As the last of the original High Summoners, he had knowledge of the inner workings of the Summoner's Rift. It was for that reason he had retired to a cottage overlooking the cliffs on a remote area in Bilgewater. Ridden with guilt, he had left the world of summoners behind, but something had brought him back – something potentially dangerous enough that he felt obliged to give them forewarning.

"Relax, Quinn. I don't believe you did it. But you are a witness, so I do need to interview you. Irvin's companion is not a suspect. Now, there's two ways we can go about this interview. If you open your mind to me, we can be done quickly and I'll know I didn't miss any information-"

"No," Quinn said, immediately diverting her eyes to the ground.

"It would only take a minute or two."

"I refuse."

"You make this more complicated than it has to be," Vessaria said. It was the expected response, though. Very few people would be willing to allow her to read their mind, even though she was in a position of power and respect. "But we'll tackle this the old fashioned way. What were you doing at the restaurant?"

"Eating dinner," Quinn said flatly.

Vessaria raised an eyebrow. Quinn wouldn't normally visit such a place. Was she trying to conceal information?

"It wasn't my idea. It was Lux's."

"Lux's," Vessaria repeated. She hadn't meant to sound so disbelieving, but it was a surprise that Quinn was associating with another Demacian. "The report did mention her. I'm glad to see you're getting along with your fellow Demacians. You were the first to notice that the high Summoner had been petrified. Is that correct?"

"I don't know." Quinn crossed her arms, leaning back further against the chair. "I felt a shift in magic, but I didn't immediately realize it was him."

"We both know you can't use magic on your own, yet you say you noticed it before the squad of Summoners we had positioned within the restaurant?"

"That's how it is," Quinn said. "What about Cassiopeia and Katarina Du Couteau? Considering the petrification..."

"Swain is cooperating, and we sent the Du Couteau sisters out of town. They're returning to Noxus for a few weeks, until things cool down."

"Why?"

"For their own safety, of course. We have sufficient witnesses for their alibi, and are quite confident the petrification does not match Cassiopeia's abilities. Now, tell me about your waiter."

Much like her meeting with Lissandra, their discussion continued for a long time as Vessaria tried her best to make sure she covered every possibility.


	14. Chapter 14

Quinn was innocent of High Summoner Irvin's death, but that didn't stop her from being self-conscious of every single action she took. The words she had spoken, the inflection with which they had been said, and her body language had all been under close observation, and she had tried her best to temper them, while still acting naturally. Vessaria herself had said she didn't believe Quinn was responsible for the attack, but by the time Quinn had left Vessaria's office, she was quite convinced that the High Summoner didn't like her.

Stepping outside of the Institute of War's main building, Quinn slowed her pace and breathed a sigh of relief. It was dark out, and the air was brisk, but she welcomed the feeling, as compared to the stifling atmosphere inside the building. It had been six days since she'd first seen the walls of Senta, and, as though it were a poison, Quinn had gradually built up a resistance to the city's stray magic, so it bothered her less and less with every passing hour.

She did not consider this acclimatization a benefit to her well-being, but rather it was like fighting with a dull blade – if someone wanted to harm her with magic, their job would be all the easier. It might take an additional second to realize the danger, and by then the attack wouldn't be avoidable.

Adapting to Senta had been a gradual change, but since High Summoner Irvin's death, she had become all the more aware of this weakness that she had developed, and it was for this reason that she found herself watching her surroundings closely, trying to make out the figures in the dark – Summoners who were so devoted to their jobs that they ignored the standard working hours.

Someone was approaching her from the Institute's gates, and she casually stepped off the path and onto the grass, to wait for them to pass by, but the figure changed course again, heading directly towards her. Unable to identify the person so bent on meeting her, she mentally cursed the architects of the Institute, who'd not bothered to light the entire field between the building and the exit.

"Quinn!"

With the single word, enthusiast and almost foreign to her ears, she recognized the person immediately. Maybe some of the pressure that had built up during the interview, where she'd had to be cautious not to contradict herself, hadn't yet left her, but she breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Hi, Lux," she said, squinting in the darkness. She could barely make out the girl's features. "How can you tell it's me from so far away?"

"Magic, of course. Magic. Who do you think I am?"

"Ah. Right, the Lady of Luminosity." Despite the darkness, Quinn could see Lux grimace.

"I never liked that title."

"No?"

"No. I didn't even get a say in it."

"Well, you were probably too young at the time."

"You're right. I guess I was around ten when the College of Magic came after me."

"And," Quinn hesitated. She was pretty sure asking a woman her age wasn't appropriate. "How long ago was that?"

"Seven – no, eight – years ago," she said, as they both returned to the path and started towards the gate and the path that descended into the city proper. "I'm one year your junior, if that's what you're wondering."

"I-" Saying she wasn't would be lying. Lux simultaneously seemed younger and older than twenty. "How'd you know my age?"

"Demacian military records," she said, with a dismissing wave of her hand. "Anyways, how did it go with Vessaria? She didn't hold you as long as I thought she would."

"No, but she had enough questions for me."

Lux laughed, before quickly falling silent. They passed through the gates, and Quinn stared down into the city. The industrial sector was mostly dark, but many houses still had their lights on. Lux stopped behind her for a few seconds, and then they began the descent, their footsteps on the gravel becoming more pronounced as they paced themselves down the hill.

"High Summoner Vessaria is smart. I knew she wouldn't arrest you or anything, but I'm still glad you're okay."

"You didn't have to wait," Quinn said.

"I'll walk you home."

"That's not necessary."

"I know."

Quinn sighed. She almost smiled, too. It felt weird for someone to be so concerned with her, but it wasn't entirely unwelcome. Prince Jarvan had always voiced his concerns for her safety, but when Lux did it, it felt genuine.

The Institute of War and its hill were within the inner residential district, which housed nobles and other important people, so the first few buildings they passed were massive – probably more appropriately called manors – and now that they were level with the rest of the city, the wind was weaker and the temperature noticeably warmed up. In retrospect, the Institute had seemed colder than it had any right to be, and Quinn couldn't help but wonder if something else, aside from the night's weather, was responsible for it.

"I didn't wait the entire time," Lux confessed. "Curiosity got the better of me, so I did some walking. The city was swarming with the city guard and Summoners. The east, west, and south gates were closed for almost an hour – though they've reopened them now – and everything just felt so off."

"They aren't going to find anyone," Quinn said, surprising herself with her confidence.

"No," Lux agreed. "No, probably not. But it helps instill a sense of security, considering a High Summoner just died."

"Not dead."

"What?"

"He's not dead, just petrified," Quinn clarified. "He's going to die, though, according to Vessaria."

Lux hummed. "I just don't really understand it. Who stands to gain from this, and why kill only one of the High Summoners? He was an important person, but if there's no follow up to this attack, then it doesn't make sense."

As they entered the middle class residential district, Quinn slowed down, making sure to check every alleyway they passed. Lux gave her an odd look, but Quinn continued. Her eyes constantly roaming, she even made sure to check the rooftops.

"You say important, but I'd never heard of him before today," Quinn said.

"That's you, and you are... different. Everyone else learns the High Summoners in school – wait a minute – did you ever go to school?"

"Of course I did!" Quinn said. "I'm not that uncivilized. But our lessons focused on more practical things."

"Such as?" Lux asked, looking relieved.

"Hmm. There wasn't really a curriculum, so the lessons were always all over the place. Telling the difference between black bears and grizzly bears. Estimating currency conversion and taxes. How to fix tractors."

"And how do you tell the difference between a black and grizzly bear?"

"Grizzlies have more defined snouts and longer claws."

"Five Demacian gold to how many Noxian bronze?"

"Two thousand five hundred."

"And fixing tractors?"

"Throw it out and buy a horse."

"That's not fixing it," Lux pouted. Her expression when she felt cheated was entertaining, and Quinn stole a sideways glance, stumbling into a pothole on the road. She recovered as casually as possible, berating herself for the lack of awareness when she was supposed to be on high alert.

"I did say practical things. Besides, my village didn't have a resident mage."

"No resident mage?" Lux said. "Isn't that a little dangerous?"

"There's one there now, but when I was about three or so, our only magic user passed away. The village elder kept asking the capital for support, but Everridge isn't a place people want to move to, so we never got help. It was just something we had to put up with, and we got used to it fairly quickly. Just last year, Prince Jarvan told me a mage and his family moved in."

"Oh."

Was Lux surprised that the king had ignored their request?

If it hadn't been for Quinn joining the military, stopping an assassin, and being promoted, Everridge would still be defenseless. Lots of people had died when monsters from the forest attacked – her neighbours and a girl in school who she'd been relatively close to, included – and their unsure way of life had gone on for over a decade. It was only after she'd become close to Jarvan IV that she had brought up the subject, and the prince had went directly to the king, immediately starting the search for a mage who would move to Everridge.

The outer residential district was quiet. Her and Lux were the only two people on the roads, aside from the occasional city guard or Summoner, who gave them pointed glares. The few taverns they passed were lacking in drunks and had an unusually gloomy atmosphere, and the bartenders were wiping their counters with looks of boredom etched on their faces. Most people were probably hiding within their houses, waiting for security to die down. The rodents of the city perhaps sensed something was amiss, because they scurried around with abandon, showing no fear in their search for food.

Quinn had always believed the most beautiful sights were found in nature. The unmarred, wavy patterns of grain on sand dunes in an endlessly repeating landscape, a picturesque beach hidden in an alcove protected by aquamarine waters, or low hanging branches in a rainforest, mossy and moist, with small red fruits hanging from them and lit by scattered streams of light which broke through the leafy canvas far above. There was so much Quinn had seen in half a decade which had astounded her, and so much more she hoped to see – and would, provided she found a way to escape death's embrace – but cities had never held her interest, because she hadn't believed there would ever be beauty to be beheld, within the crowded, polluted atmosphere.

This belief fell away to confusion, when they turned a street corner. Quinn was a step behind as they passed a nearby storefront, and for a brief moment, the store's light illuminated the girl in front of her, bathing her in an orange incandescence.

Her hair was glowing, like the flames of a fire, and even as Quinn stopped and stared, Lux kept walking, with her happy, upbeat gait, as though completely unaware of her own beauty. When Lux came to realize she was walking alone, she threw her head back, tilting it and offering a curious smile. Quinn felt an odd feeling in her stomach as her heartbeat sped up. The girl in front of her was entrancing. Golden hair and fair skin, with inquisitive, blue eyes, and her defined neck and delicate cheek bones all combined into an image that Quinn wanted to commit to memory forever.

In the peculiar way she'd come to know from Lux, the girl rushed forward, closing the gap between them in a second, before leaning in with a concerned look.

"What's wrong?" Lux said with a frown.

"Nothing. I'm tired, I think."

"Nothing? It doesn't seem like nothing."

Her curiosity was so earnest that Quinn decided to be honest. "I was just a little surprised. I guess I never noticed before, but you have really nice hair."

Voicing it aloud, Quinn realized how embarrassing it sounded. Lux, however, didn't seem to care. Smiling, she skipped forward to close the remaining distance between them, and before Quinn could think to back off, Lux grabbed her arm, preventing retreat. Quinn put up a feeble resistance, as though she wanted to be overpowered, and once in close quarters, she realized that Lux's aura – the latent magic around her body – didn't upset her. In fact, Quinn cast her thoughts back, looking for a time where it had, and she found it had never bothered her. It wasn't uncomfortable, like when in the presence of Summoners or Demacia's elite soldiers.

Their height difference wasn't all that much, but suddenly Quinn found herself staring down into Lux's eyes.

"Um... Though I'm sure you've heard that a lot before."

"Thank you," Lux said, oblivious to how awkward Quinn felt. "And no, not really. I think the last person to compliment my hair was Ezreal."

It took Quinn a second to relate the name to the person. A Piltovian, who, if rumours were to be believed, had been seen on dates with Lux. Lux paused, and Quinn tried for a second to pull free from her grasp, but Lux did not yield. She apparently wasn't done.

"But I think I like your hair more."

"Um..."

"Anyways," Lux said. "Let's keep moving before we draw any more attention."

She pulled away, and the moment was broken. It took a second for Quinn to realize that she classified it as a 'moment', and she spent a few more seconds debating on what exactly a moment was, but came up clueless.

"Any more?"

Lux gave a subtle nod towards the window of the shop they had stopped in front of, where three children of increasing heights were pressed against the glass, watching them with beady eyes.

* * *

Quinn tried to focus on her steps and her destination, rather than the girl beside her, so she started a little when Lux ended the silence.

"Hey, Quinn? I have a question for you."

"Okay."

"And if you don't want to answer it, it's fine. You don't need to."

"Okay."

"I was wondering," Lux said, her motions now more refined as she kept several paces ahead of Quinn, despite not knowing where Quinn lived. "About your relationship with Prince Jarvan?"

Relationship? "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it was kind of sudden, but about a year ago you two started spending a lot of time together. Whenever you were in town, it was generally assumed you would be with Jarvan, and then you would just disappear again, not even talking to anyone else. Anyways, my point is, I was wondering if you two are always just discussing business, or if you're friends, or – or, you know, something more."

"No," Quinn said as they stopped at an empty intersection. "That's – we weren't ever that close. Maybe friends, at one point, but I don't really consider him one anymore."

"No?"

"No," Quinn said firmly, regaining traction in their conversation. "We're too different. He's a lot like your brother, I think. His notion of reward was to give me status – to put me on a level with the elite. We're so different, he thought it was what I wanted, and now I'm here and it may be childish of me, but I can't help but partially blame him, even with all the mistakes I've made."

"Do you find him attractive?"

"No," Quinn said, and it was the truth.

"Then..." Lux paused, tapping her fingers together. "Is there anyone you like? Gerrit, maybe?"

"What? No. Definitely not him."

Hadn't they just been talking about Jarvan? Lux was supposed to rebuke her for blaming the prince for her own failures.

"I don't really think about those kinds of things," Quinn said, though as of a couple minutes ago, it might have become a lie. "I have my hands full just trying to stay alive and fed."

"That might not be true anymore, now that you're with the League. And anyways, aren't you ever lonely? When you're out on the job, for example?"

"I have Valor to keep me company."

They passed a house in silence, hearing the sounds of a crying baby inside.

It occurred to Quinn that she didn't know exactly what Lux's work entailed. She had always assumed they were in the same line of work, but that might not have been true.

"Are _you_ ever lonely when you're doing your work?" Quinn said. "Is that why you asked me?"

"I don't know if lonely is the right word," Lux sighed, "but it's hard to keep my head on straight when I'm alone for so long. Sometimes I'll wake up in the forest, look around, wondering if I shouted as loud as I could if anyone would even be able to hear me – and sometimes I have these thoughts that what I'm doing is pointless, or for a second I'll even wonder where I am, and then I panic and all my training goes out the window and I can't even find north. And there's nobody around so it's completely fine for me to go a little insane because no one will ever know and can't judge me, and-"

They passed a pair of city guards on patrol, and Lux fell silent momentarily.

"And, yeah, I guess I do feel lonely," she mumbled once they were gone.

Quinn didn't know what to say. Was it just her or did Lux reveal a really personal secret? And how exactly was she supposed to react to that? She couldn't even offer any advice. There weren't really any solutions, yet if Quinn didn't have the company of Valor, she certainly would have fallen into the same mental space.

No, Quinn was pretty sure silence was the appropriate response. Lux wasn't looking for anything from her.

They passed a tavern whose doors were open. Inside, a group of Summoners were seated at a table, their beers clinking together. They were clearly drunk, and considering High Summoner Irvin's fate, Quinn was puzzled at their celebrating. Maybe he wasn't a very popular man. When the aroma of chicken drifted out through a cracked window, Quinn was reminded of their dinner cut short. They had left their plates half eaten when they'd been ushered away from their food to be quizzed by the investigating Summoners.

Quinn cleared her throat. "What happened back at the restaurant? I never even had a chance to pay the bill."

"Didn't need to," Lux said. "They waived the fee. Meal was on the house for all the customers who were there when the attack happened."

"Then I still owe you."

Lux smiled in a way Quinn could only see as conniving. "I suppose you do."

* * *

As they left through the outer gates, the area around them took a drastic drop in quality of life. The roads were no longer cobble, but uneven dirt, and the houses were in various states of disrepair, some roofs had holes in them and front yards were full of weeds. They passed a house with a cat sitting tall on the roof, its eyes glinting in the moon as it tracked them.

Quinn caught Lux giving her a furtive glance.

"You don't have to accompany me the whole way, you know," Quinn said.

Lux shook her head. "I know, but I don't mind. Besides, I want to know where you live."

"Why?"

"So I can hunt you down when you're hiding from me." She smiled, but Quinn didn't find it comforting.

They walked in silence for another minute before Quinn felt obligated to speak up and defend her choice in housing.

"I prefer out-of-the-way places. It's cheap, too," she said.

Before Lux could offer a response, the fluttering of wings alerted Quinn to Valor's arrival. Looking up, she smiled. Valor, only visible when he blocked out the view of the stars in the sky above, flew closer.

"We've got a new place," Quinn said when he joined them on street level.

"In the slums," Lux interjected. "People are going to start thinking Demacia doesn't treat their champions properly."

Valor perched on her shoulder, and for a moment Quinn wished she were somewhere in the forest, far away from Senta and its people. But perhaps not far away from Lux.

"Here we are," Quinn said, approaching her house. She pulled the front window open. "Go ahead and check it out, Valor. I'll be in in a minute."

Valor listened, entering the house. He would find it crowded, but it wasn't like they planned on spending much time at home.

"There's no lock?" Lux said as Quinn opened the door.

"I have nothing of value to any thieves. Besides, if someone wants to kill me, I don't think even a thousand steel doors will stop them, let alone an aged wooden one."

"I don't like that."

Quinn ignored the resolute statement from Lux, not sure what to make of it, and they said their goodbyes. In minutes, Quinn was standing in the middle of her house. She was tired, and would probably fall asleep in minutes, when she laid down.

"Valor, do me a favour?"

He waddled out of their room with his penguin imitation and tilted his head, wide eyes watching her attentively.

"See her home."

When he didn't react, Quinn sighed. "I'll owe you. Turtle, next time we're near the ocean?"

For some reason, Valor loved eating turtle. She had discovered his odd quirk years ago, when they'd first began to travel together. Moving north, along the Demacian coast, they had stopped for the night, and Quinn had decided to see how useful he would be. She had asked him to fetch them dinner, and he returned ten minutes later, attempting to drop a massive turtle on her head, like a crow breaking a walnut on rock.

She had easily sidestepped it and yelled at him to find them some real food, but he refused. The turtle had withdrawn into it's shell, and Quinn realized it was the only food Valor couldn't eat on his own. She had dutifully executed the turtle and – after struggling to break the bottom shell off – cooked it, making soup for herself and letting Valor eat the meat raw. She hadn't found it particularly enjoyable, but since then, whenever they were near the ocean and she left supper up to Valor, they would, without question, be eating turtle - the only prey that wasn't a prey, to the Demacian eagle.

* * *

"Where exactly are we going?" Quinn asked for the third time, much less hopeful of a straight answer than the first two times.

"In here, I think," Lux said.

It was early morning, and Lux had woken her up. Usually her biological clock woke her up just after seven, but Lux had come knocking on the door at six thirty, insisting it was for a good reason. Maybe showing her where Quinn lived wasn't such a good idea, if this were to become the new norm.

There were few people awake so early in the morning. A scattering butcher stalls in the market were weighing and cutting their veals, but most hunters would still be out in the forest, tracking their prey.

Entering the industrial district, Quinn was surprised to find it was very different from how it looked when standing up on the plaza at the Institute of War and looking down. From that vantage point, the industrial district looked unhealthily like Zaun, with a smoky haze hovering over the buildings. As she walked through the place, however, she found the air to be clean and the sky was cloudy – but they were white clouds high in the sky, not man-made ones.

The two of them stopped at a blacksmith's shop, next to the river which ran through the industrial district. The building was a newer, two story structure, a window on the second floor indicating it was also used as a living quarters, yet being by the river it seemed flora was intent on overrunning the place. Ivy was climbing up the sides of the house, and the tiles on the roof were covered in yellowish, sickly looking moss.

The bottom floor appeared to be divided into two. One half was an open air workspace, where the metalworking was being done. A large pile of wood was stacked against the house, and shelves upon shelves of tools and products - swords and armour, primarily - were displayed towards the road.

A forge was being worked by a large man, and behind him, a woman was watching.

Without hesitation, Lux approached.

"Good morning, Caitlyn," she said.

The woman turned towards them.

Though Quinn didn't immediately recognize her, she was left with the feeling that she'd seen the woman and had heard the name before.

Caitlyn was dressed in a short skirt – which Quinn found ridiculous so early in the morning – and she had long brown hair that was curled at the end. Her large eyebrows hinted towards heavy use of mascara, and her cleavage was finding trouble fitting in her dress. Her lips were a dark red, and if not for her bare arms showing muscle, Quinn might have penned her as a noble who'd never lifted a finger in effort before.

There was also the brown leather straps on her leg, Quinn noticed a moment later, with a pistol and knife attached to them. The weapons contradicted her looks, and finally she found meaning in the name. Caitlyn, the sheriff of Piltover, was a member of the League of Legends. She was currently acting as representative of Piltover, along with whomever the Piltovian Council sent to Senta as an advisor. In other words, she had power on par with Karma and Prince Jarvan.

"Ah, Lux, you found the place. Good, I was beginning to worry my directions weren't clear enough."

Lux shook her head, stepping aside to sit on a bench next to the forge. "Not a problem. She's all yours."

"Quinn," Caitlyn said, approaching her with a wide smile. "Nice to finally meet you."

"Uh, likewise," Quinn said, shaking hands.

"I'm sorry I've dragged you out here so early in the morning, but it's a teensy bit time sensitive. I take it from your confusion that Lux hasn't told you anything?"

"She hasn't," Quinn said, seeing an amused Lux on the sidelines.

"Tomorrow is the last day of the Piltover-Noxus trade agreements. We've already made tremendous progress, but there's one match left which is extremely important to us. It's about regulating the control of Tor Bay. The winner of tomorrow's match will have a great deal of influence over the renewal – or dissolution – of laws regarding usage of the bay."

As the water dividing the two city states, Tor Bay was the busiest shipping lane in the world. Hundreds of boats from all around the world arrived and left the bay every day, and Zaun dumped gallons of toxic sludge into its waters every hour, which further antagonized the relationship between the two city states.

Years ago, Quinn had taken a boat through the bay on her way to Ionia, under orders from the king. There had been a stark contrast between the waters outside Piltover, whom invested large amounts of money into decontamination magic and machinery, and the waters closer to Zaun, which looked muddy but were in all likelihood poisoned by much more than simply mud.

"As I'm sure you can guess, Ionia's already interested in the matter because the bay has all of Piltover's ports, which are essential to Ionia's imports and exports businesses. We've spoken with Karma and secured Lee Sin for our battle on the Rift. In the interest of promoting strong bonds with Demacia, too, I spoke to Prince Jarvan about recruiting Lux. He said it was fine, and..."

Lux stood up for a second. "I accepted," she said with a casual smile.

"Okay," Quinn said slowly, not sure where the conversation was going.

"Let's walk," Caitlyn said, motioning along the river.

Quinn shrugged, and they departed from the roofed forge, walking along a well worn path. The river was almost more appropriately a creek. It had a slow current, and was shallow and quiet. Though it was slightly too wide to jump over, the water was completely transparent, and she could see the rocks and sand at the bottom, only a few feet beneath the surface. The path they were taking would eventually lead to a bridge which crossed over, and beyond that, the city's eastern wall.

To her surprise, Lux didn't follow them. She remained behind, seemingly engaging in conversation with the blacksmith.

"I have a proposal for you. Fight for us on the Rift."

"Me?" Quinn frowned, breaking pace to stare at her. She had no interest in participating in another blood bath on the Fields of Justice, especially not for Piltover's cause.

"Yes," Caitlyn said. She hesitated a little, perhaps not expecting a negative response. "I've already been granted permission from Prince Jarvan to recruit you."

"Why me?" Quinn said, shaking her head. "You said yourself that it was an important match, and I've got no experience."

"Hear me out before you make any decisions. It _is_ an important match, so I've put lots of thought into this. Besides, you do have experience, and though the numbers may not favour you, I saw actual footage of the battle and you did good enough that I think you would be the correct choice. My first piece of reasoning is how the draft is turning out. It started out yesterday. Zaun announced Warwick and Twitch."

She'd fought Twitch before, and if she were to fight again, she'd be most comfortable against him. He used a crossbow, which meant she could better predict his actions, and his strongest ability, invisibility, was something she could actually counter to some degree. Warwick, on the other hand, she had no opinion of, besides her dislike of wolves. It was odd though, to announce Warwick as the first pick. If she had understood things correctly, kingdoms – and city states – usually announced the team's 'captain' first. Warwick was certainly no leader. She would have expected Singed or Victor, or someone of the likes.

Caitlyn crossed her arms. "I'll admit, Karma might have hinted that you would be a good choice against Twitch, but that was well before everything else came together."

"I'm not exactly eager to visit the Rift again."

"We had first picked Orianna, and responded with Lee Sin and Heimerdinger," Caitlyn continued, unperturbed. "Middle, jungle and top lane respectively. And here's why I want you on the team: two hours ago, Zaun announced their third and fourth champions. Victor and Thresh."


	15. Interruptions

"Thresh," Quinn repeated, immediately understanding.

Caitlyn nodded. "You and Lux are the only two people who've fought him before, and successfully, at that. We don't know exactly why he's supporting Zaun, when he's ignored other opportunities, but he hasn't appeared on the Rift yet, so it's unsettling for a lot of us. Considering the importance of the match, it would be invaluable to have you and Lux to counter him."

"And Lux already agreed to this?"

"She did, yes. If you accept, it would really bolster our team's morale. I wouldn't say we're scared or anything, but fighting an unknown enemy can be challenging. Just knowing Thresh's captors were on the Rift would really help the team. We want to put both you and Lux together in the bottom lane. Considering your experience fighting together, I think it would work very well, and your opponent would be Twitch, so it would be a very similar experience to last time."

Quinn raised her eyebrows.

"Not like that," Caitlyn rushed to assure her upon realizing her blunder. "I mean, the environment and expectations."

"Sorry, but I'm not interested."

Noxus had got their message across last time, so she was pretty sure it wouldn't be nearly as bad if she did accept – not to mention it was too important of a match for Zaun to throw – but she had no reason to accept. Aside from, perhaps, the opportunity to fight with Lux. If there was one person she wanted on her side on the battlefield, it was Lux, but willingly subjecting herself to the magic of the Rift just didn't seem worth it.

"I did say to hear me out. I'm willing to make this worth your time. I'm the sheriff and representative of Piltover, so it's not like I'm expecting you to do this for free. Piltover has plenty of valuables. Magical trinkets, weapons, and money, if it interests you. We have property on the waterfront that's set aside for these sorts of deals. If none of this appeals to you, remember that I'm the law in Piltover. If you ever need us to turn a blind eye, then this is one way to make it happen."

That didn't sound very ethical, but Quinn kept silent.

"And that's just beginning to scratch the surface," Caitlyn said. "You would get to meet Orianna – she's really nice, but somewhat of a recluse. Heimerdinger and Lee Sin too, I don't think you've met. There's all these political advantages, too. We'd be in your debt and you would be strengthening ties between Demacia and Piltover, not to mention there are lots of people who are curious about you, and another appearance on the Rift would answer some questions."

Quinn was reminded of Lux's words, at their interrupted dinner the other day. Being a champion meant many people were paying attention to her. In fact, in this very moment, Quinn was suddenly aware that Lux, even though she wasn't present, would be watching closely. Did Quinn even want to represent Demacia? Vessaria had even offered to make her independent, and if it hadn't been for Lux, she probably would have went ahead with it.

They passed through a muddy patch on the trail, and turned left onto the bridge. Caitlyn stopped halfway across the bridge, and Quinn did too, resting her arms against the railing and watching the stream.

A frog on a rock among the reeds drew her attention, and she watched it watch the flies. It was missing a back leg, but its body was smooth where the leg should have been protruding, meaning it was born with the mutation rather than it being an injury. Even without four legs, the frog seemed to handle itself fine, camouflaged in the mud and reeds on the riverside.

"Really," Caitlyn said, "I think the value of me owing you a favour would be enough, and I don't mean to sound conceited by saying that."

Quinn sighed. "You can't seriously expect Thresh to pose a problem, can you? If he's never fought on the Rift before, then why would you expect him to be able to take you on? You're a veteran, Caitlyn. Why don't you just fight him?"

"Since I've already participated in more than half of the battles on the Rift this past week, they'll be expecting me – not to mention I'm tired of the Rift and need a break. If you refuse, the only other option we have, on such a short notice, is Ezreal. Of course, he would be happy with that development, but I don't think he would have the same impact as you would."

The frog turned its head to look up at her, and she glared at it until it jumped off its rock and disappeared into the reeds.

Ezreal fighting instead of her? An image easily formed in her head of him and Lux laning together – of fighting together. Were they a couple? Quinn hadn't seen Ezreal since she'd arrived in town, and Lux hadn't mentioned anything about a boyfriend, but still, Quinn didn't like the idea of letting them fight together. It wasn't that she didn't trust Ezreal – though she didn't – but rather it was an uneasy feeling in her stomach, which she tentatively labeled jealousy. That, in turn, meant she wanted to be on the Summoner's Rift, next to Lux.

And maybe Quinn was feeling a little cooped up, spending so many days trapped in the city. The prospect of fighting Thresh, again, didn't appeal to her, but if she was going to be spending any longer in the city, it would be best to spend the time wisely, and earning a favour from Caitlyn didn't seem like a bad investment. Though in reality, people owing her did no good – she already had Janna bothering her about equalizing a debt, which had made Quinn realize nothing she wanted could be attained from befriending people.

"If you accept, we'll be allies. And any friend of Lux is a friend of mine."

They began to walk back to the blacksmith's. Quinn walked through the muddy part of the trail, but Caitlyn circled around it, going through the untamed weeds on the side of the path.

"I'm not sure," Quinn said slowly as Caitlyn rejoined her side.

"Take some time to think on it. We have to announce our pick at five pm tonight, so there's still some time. If you're interested, drop by our headquarters and give us the word."

Lux saw them approaching from down the path, and waved.

Caitlyn frowned. "I was actually expecting this to be an easier sell. Lux seemed very enthused by the idea. I don't know how close you two are, but I think she would be disappointed if you don't accept."

* * *

They left the blacksmith's and Quinn wasn't sure where they were going, but she was content to follow. Lux was acting odd, though. She was usually the one who created conversation, but she'd been silent since they'd said goodbye to Caitlyn. Initially, Quinn took it as Lux wanting silence, but after Lux stole a third look at her in one minute, Quinn realized it was something else.

She cleared her throat. "Aren't you going to ask me?"

"What?" Lux said, trying yet failing to look innocent and unconcerned. She was intentionally avoiding the subject.

"If I accepted her proposal?"

Lux gasped. "You're going to marry her? No way!"

"I'm being serious here."

"Fine, fine, I'm sorry. Did you?"

"Do you not care?" Quinn said. "You don't sound very interested."

"Answer the question. You're the one who made me ask it."

"I haven't decided yet. She told me I have until tonight, so I'm still thinking on it."

"I see, I see," Lux said, staring forward.

"Aren't you going to tell me I should?"

"Should what?" Lux said with a coy smile.

"Never mind, then," Quinn sighed. "I just thought maybe you would try to convince me or something."

Lux shook her head. "Fine, fine, you want to know what I have to say? I know how much trouble the Rift causes you, so I'm not going to tell you to do it, or otherwise. It's your choice."

"That's it? You're remaining neutral?"

"I'm a Demacian," Lux laughed. "What'd you expect?"

"Okay." Lux was supposed to give her the final push she needed, but the mage chose not to. "Where are we going?"

"There's this cool restaurant near the Institute of War that I've always wanted to check out."

"Does it have salad?"

"You eat salad for breakfast, too?"

Quinn gave her a stony stare.

"Fine, fine. I'm sure it does. Every restaurant does."

Quinn realized she was no longer conflicted. It was childish, but she had wanted to hear Lux say she wanted Quinn by her side on the Rift. If Lux didn't care, then Quinn wouldn't bother.

Besides, earlier she had recognized the similarities between the Rift and killing. Killing might have been worse, but just because she _could_ desensitize herself to fighting on the Fields of Justice, didn't mean she _should_. If it helped her hold onto her humanity – or, rather, sanity – then she wouldn't visit the Rift ever again.

"Excuse me!" someone shouted.

Quinn ignored the voice. There were other people on the street; it probably wasn't directed at them. Lux, however, reacted immediately, and a moment later Quinn was forced to follow suit, turning around.

"Miss Quinn!"

A breathless girl ran up to them, and Quinn recognized her as Karma's assistant. What was her name?

"Good morning, Misa," Lux greeted. "What's the rush? What's wrong?"

"Oh, Miss Luxanna, too. Excellent timing. Nothing's wrong," Misa assured them. "I come bearing a question – and request – from the Duchess."

She took a second to catch her breath, her face red from the effort of running. Quinn and Lux waited patiently. When she looked up, her gaze travelled between the two of them several times, seemingly unprepared for two people, and unsure of who to look at while she spoke. She settled on Lux.

"The Duchess wishes to know if either you or Miss Quinn have chosen your seatings for the upcoming banquet," Misa said, her words sounding measured, as though she'd practiced them a thousand times in her head.

"Upcoming banquet?" Lux said with a puzzled expression.

"The Freljord banquet. All the champions have been invited, except of course those in category 'K'. Even with High Summoner Irvin's death, it's been taking everyone's attention."

"I haven't heard a thing about it," Lux said. She sounded tired, and Quinn suspected it was because of all the banquets the Demacian army held. Even a banquet exclusively for champions of the League of Legends couldn't interest her.

"It was only announced recently," Misa explained after a pause. "This morning, the Duchess told me, and with such a short notice, people are scrambling to get organized."

"Freljord banquet... that's an odd theme, no?"

Misa looked over her shoulder and leaned in. "There's a rumour that the final Freljordian princess has arrived, and the battle for Freljord will be announced at the banquet."

"That's quite a rumour." Lux hummed. "Ashe and Sejuani are already members of the League, so does that mean Lissandra?"

Misa shrugged. "A rumour, as I said. Returning to business... the banquet seating?"

"We haven't made any decisions on it. I assume Prince Jarvan will handle organizing all the Demacians."

"The Duchess requests you allow her to arrange your seating. Prince Jarvan has been contacted already, and he has given his consent..."

Lux and Quinn exchanged glances.

Did they risk being pulled into political games, if they accepted? Quinn didn't know, and didn't want to think about it.

"Your call," she told Lux.

Lux nodded. "When is this banquet?"

"The banquet is in two days' time."

"Fine, fine. Go ahead and tell Karma we accept, providing she doesn't seat us next to – no, never mind. Anywhere is fine. I trust the Duchess."

Misa nodded. "Thank you for your cooperation. The Duchess will be pleased."

She bowed and took a few steps backwards, before quickly turning around and scurrying off.

"Freljord," Quinn said. "You think the rumour is true?"

"Why do you have to ask such difficult questions?" Lux whined. "Come on, come on, I'm getting hungry."

* * *

They didn't make it far, before being interrupted again.

Someone fell in step beside Quinn and Lux, and it was so casual that Quinn took a few seconds before noticing the new arrival.

"Uh – Akali?" she said.

"Hi," the Ionian responded, keeping pace with them. "How's it going?"

Quinn let out an inaudible sigh. "Fine, I suppose. Is there something you needed?"

"A couple things. I wanted to apologize for the other day. I left rather quickly because I didn't want to get involved in Irelia and Janna's fight."

"Oh."

"Did Irelia try to bring you into the argument? She likes to do that, and I've heard them go at it a thousand times, so I've taken to just disappearing whenever I see the two of them together."

"Irelia left right after you did."

It might have been because of High Summoner Irvin's death, but people seemed more focused on themselves. Usually three members of the League walking through the streets would draw more attention and everyone would give them leeway, but Akali was forced to dodge around a group of people and then a caravan, as they passed onto a busier street. She rejoined them in a quick step, almost making a dance of it all, before bringing up a hand to muffle a yawn.

"Sorry, didn't get much sleep last night. Shen was convinced a follow up attack was going to happen. " Akali scoffed. "Shows what he knows."

Lux coughed overtly.

"Oh, sorry Lux," Akali said, before trying and failing to restrain another yawn. "I didn't mean to intrude on your conversation. Everything going good with the Crownguard family?"

"Sure," Lux said.

"Garen in good health?"

"Mm hmm." Lux nodded, and it was obvious she was harboring some enmity towards Akali.

"Good. Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time. Karma doesn't seem to realize I work for the Order, and not her, so she sent me on an errand. Quinn, she wants to know when your birthday is."

"What? Why?"

Akali shrugged. "She wouldn't tell me why, exactly. She gave me a cryptic message that you're supposed to understand, though." Akali cleared her throat, and took on a high pitched, girlish voice that didn't sound like Karma in the least. "'It has to do with your tea'. I don't know if she wants to make you some specialized tea, or what, but she said it was important."

It was obviously referring to the broken tea cup. Hadn't Karma said it wasn't important, and she shouldn't worry about it, because prophecies were so fragile?

"It's some time in late August," Quinn said. "I'm not too sure of the exact date."

"August. Alright, thanks. I've got to get back, now. Shen is still being paranoid, and we've got this banquet thing upcoming – anyways, see you later."

"Right. Bye."

* * *

"Quinn!"

They both stopped, Lux shooting her a dirty look, as though it were her fault they were being accosted for the third time on their walk.

Across the road, Prince Jarvan was waving to her, fully dressed in his royal armour. He had three accompanying guards, two on either side of him and one following behind. They stopped, planting their pikes on the ground and standing tall.

"I'm glad I caught you," he said, crossing the road. "I'm heading back to Demacia for a couple days."

"Oh. What did you want?"

She knew it wouldn't be good. They were still waiting on the king for her courts-martial.

"I want you to come with me. We'll head out in an hour, taking a carriage which will bring us to Demacia in two day's time. The capital is currently experiencing... difficulties. Some of the commoners have organized protests and things are threatening to break out of control. Having an extra hand in sorting the matter out would be tremendously helpful."

"Protests," Lux said, "why?"

Jarvan shook his head. "The king hanged Dart."

"And you want Quinn to come?"

"Wait a second," Quinn said. "Who's Dart?"

"It's a little complicated," the prince hedged.

"Tell me."

"Dart was the leader of a grassroots movement. He condemned the king's economic choices and inter-kingdom policies, and manipulated the general discontent of the public. His movement grew out of control, and a riot broke out where some nobles were badly injured. The Dauntless vanguard swept in, arresting Dart and some of his close allies. Dart was the only one executed, but it appears his faction is continuing, almost seeming stronger than before. We need to head things off before more people die, and hunt down whoever is causing the trouble."

Quinn hesitated.

He didn't say it, but she was still suspicious. Was she wanted because of her abilities, or what she stood for? What he described was almost a rebellion in the making, and since commoners were the backbone of the kingdom, it directly threatened the king's position.

If the citizens wanted change, they could make it happen, and Quinn was known for coming from a commoner background. If they saw her patrolling the streets, it would break the morale of the faction. People would be less likely to support it – especially now that she was known for being a champion of the League, too. Simply put, all they needed was her presence.

She would be used, by Demacia, again.

"That – I can't do that," Quinn said.

Jarvan frowned. It was clearly not the response he expected. "Why not?"

She made an on the spot decision. "I've got a battle on the Summoner's Rift. Piltover just recruited me."

" _We've_ got a battle," Lux corrected with a wide grin.

Jarvan sighed. "I suppose I misread you, Quinn. When Caitlyn came by asking for permission to make you and Lux an offer, I give her the go ahead, assuming you wouldn't accept. She must have been really convincing, or else offered you something valuable."

Quinn shrugged. If an excuse to not be used was valuable, then yes.

"Well, I suppose there's nothing I can do about your decision, then. The problem in Demacia must be addressed as soon as possible, so I'll be leaving town. There's a champion's banquet in three days' time, which I won't be attending-"

"We've heard, we've heard," Lux said.

"And the Duchess of Ionia wanted to put together a table-"

Lux nodded. She seemed impatient. "We know, we know. We've already accepted."

"Ah." The prince paused, as if searching for more to say. "Listen, since High Summoner Irvine's death, things have been very fragile. Try to keep away from the Noxians, and don't start any world wars, no matter how much the banquet bores you."

Lux shook her head. "I won't, but do you really think you should be leaving, at a time like this?"

"I'm leaving exactly because it's a time like this." Jarvan frowned. "Remember our priorities, Lux."

"Fine," Lux said after a moment of consideration.

"Good, then I need to head out now. If you have any concerns, direct them towards Taric. He's in charge while Garen and I are in Demacia. And Quinn, best of luck on the Rift."

Quinn nodded and watched as he left down the street, civilians stopping to watch him with wide eyes. Even if champions of the League weren't drawing their attention, a prince still did.

"He didn't wish me luck," Lux whined as they resumed their walk. "Are you sure there's nothing going on between you two?"

"I'm sure. What was that about, remembering your priorities?"

"Demacia, obviously," she said. "Anyways, you made up your mind quickly. I thought you weren't interested in Caitlyn's offer. Maybe you had an alternative motive?"

Quinn shook her head. Lux was too astute, but Quinn wouldn't admit it. "What can you tell me that Jarvan didn't? Do you know anything about this Dart guy and his following?"

"You say 'following', but everything indicates it was a genuine insurgency in the making. The king squashed it before it could get off the ground. I thought things were done, but it sounds like they don't need a single man to hold things together."

"So it's bad?"

Lux shrugged. "I can't say. There have been people who opposed the king before, and nothing has ever come of it. I don't see why this time will be any different, but I really don't know. Oh, here we are. Our destination."

"This is?" Quinn said, taking a step backwards.

"The restaurant I wanted to check out. Last week, Nidalee was raving about it to anyone who would listen, and since she isn't the most friendly person, I became kind of curious."

They had entered the city's inner district, along the route leading towards the Institute of War, but had veered off onto a different street before the path started sloping upwards to the plateau where the Institute was. A large door was embedded within the cliff's side, held ajar by a doorstop. Above the door, a cyan sign was nailed into the stone, and in flowing cursive letters, _Meer-Grotte_ was written.

In theory, if the tunnel went far enough, they would be travelling under the Institute's buildings, but for safety reasons, Quinn didn't think any tunnels would go that far.

In any case, it was undoubtedly a cave.

"I'm not going in there," Quinn said, her heart speeding up just at the prospect.

Lux frowned. "What's wrong? It's just a restaurant."

_She scrambled down the rocky mountain face, using roots where she could, and scraping her hands on the stones when there was nothing else to slow her descent. A snake tried to slither past her, but she saw it too late and crushed it with her foot before slipping on the scales and guts. The rest of her descent into darkness went by quickly, with a scream and flailing arms._

"I can't go in there," Quinn said, rubbing her elbow subconsciously.

"Are you claustrophobic?"

_When she came to, she_ _thought_ _she had somehow been blinded, but then she looked around her surroundings. A few rays of light broke through the incomplete, rocky roof. Caleb's body was resting several meters from her, and she crawled towards it._

"No."

"Then don't be silly," Lux said, reaching forward and grabbing her hand.

_Blood, a viscous river_ _soaking the stones_ _flowing out of the patch of sunlight and into the darkness. Her brother's eyes were unmoving, looking upwards with a shocked, terrified expression on his face. She wished he would blink, or move his hands, but she knew the truth. Quinn opened her mouth to inhale,_ _to_ _scream-_

"No!" she shouted, ripping her arm free and stumbling back.

Lux's shocked face brought her back to reality.

"I - sorry. I – I'm not feeling well. I've got to go."

"Wait!" Lux called after her, but it was too late.

Quinn was already running down the road, and paid the girl's cries no heed.

* * *

_It had been twenty minutes, and she had come to the conclusion that it wasn't a dream, nor was Caleb going to magically come back to life. Even if they had an all-powerful village mage, Caleb's_ _soul_ _had probably left Runeterra forever. Her brother was dead, and all that she could do now was bring his body back home._

_She experimented with the cave walls, trying to climb to freedom. The last few meters of the drop were solid stone walls, and she couldn't make any progress upwards. Her brother weighed much more than her, so it would be impossible. There was only one route left – going deeper into the cave, hoping another exit might exist._

Quinn turned the page of the book, without having read a single word.

Somehow, she hadn't developed a fear of snakes. Maybe because it had been too dark, in the cave, so all she had been able to hear were the hisses and scales against stone. She hadn't seen a single one, but knew there had been thousands.

Quinn closed the book, pushing it aside.

Abandoning Lux at the restaurant left her feeling guilty, but she had needed to be alone for awhile. The first place that had come to mind was the Institute of War's library. It was both a quiet place, and one that had been in the back of her mind since she'd received a tour of the place.

It hadn't taken her long to find books and research on immortality, but her mind kept drifting to other places when she tried to read them. She came across a surprisingly large book which documented all known methods of obtaining immortality, but most required powerful magic or rare artifacts. Those which required neither were generally dark magic, or required the sacrifice of a soul – the latter apparently not a subset of the former.

It was still early, some time around noon, when Quinn left the library to return home – though the place she was renting didn't quite feel like a home, and she didn't know if it ever would. As far as she was concerned, it was a temporary stay, until things had settled down and she could decided what she wanted to do.

Normally, she wouldn't hesitate at the thought of returning to the forest and taking her chances with any enemies hidden within, but now Lux was a problem. Caitlyn's offer was still available, and if Quinn left, it would very possibly destroy her friendship with Lux – if her earlier freak-out hadn't already.

Valor found her outside the Institute, and they walked home together. He must have noticed her melancholic mood, because he kept silent.

When they were just about to cross the street to her front door, Quinn saw a shimmer of air. She stopped to watch.

The shimmer brightened, in front of her door, and Lux appeared, mid stride. The girl hesitated a moment before knocking on Quinn's door. For some inexplicable reason – curious as to what Lux would do, perhaps – Quinn stayed silent, deciding to watch. Valor perked his head up, attentive, but he, too, remained silent.

Quinn expected Lux to give up and turn around, but the girl was patient. She took a few steps back, then stepped off the path and onto the grass and peered inside through the window. The spying fruitless, she returned to the door, brushed a lock of hair behind her right ear, and knocked again. A minute passed, and by then Quinn was confused by Lux's determination. Then, perhaps remembering their conversation from the other night, Lux tried the door. It opened with a creak that Quinn could hear from where she stood, and Lux peeked in.

"Quinn?" she called.

She stepped inside, and then she shifted into a combat stance, her body language changing in a moment. Reacting to something unseen, she brought her hands up.

Valor spread his wings, and with a force beyond what Quinn thought possible from the bird, his claws tensed and he launched off her shoulder like a bullet, racing towards the house.

In front of Lux's hands, a layer of some bright, gaseous substance appeared. It was defensive magic that Quinn had never seen before, and she watched as Valor rushed towards the house, and Lux took a step backwards in retreat, before stumbling and then beginning to move forwards again.

If Quinn had had a second to react, she might have begun to say something or even move forward, but it all happened too quick. She knew something was wrong, but the world left her behind, and she could only stand and watch, hopeless and helpless.

Her house exploded in a brilliant fire of red and orange. The windows shattered outwards, a firestorm rushing out onto the street to consume the broken shards of glass before they could fall to the ground. The path of least resistance, the open door, erupted like a volcano, and Lux, who had been standing at the entrance a microsecond ago, was erased from sight as the explosion swallowed her whole. The roof splintered and chunks of it skyrocketed upwards, not capable of withstanding the intensity of the explosion, and the structural supports of the house, simple wooden beams, were ruthlessly blasted away.

The firestorm didn't stop at the yard's limit though, and Quinn began bringing her hands up to protect herself, but she didn't have time. Without warning, the shock wave hit her, and it lifted her off her feet, throwing her backwards. She had only time to think of one thing, before she hit something solid.

_Lux._


	16. Runaways

Quinn opened her eyes. She was in pain, lying on what felt like a bed of daggers, and someone was standing over her, speaking, but she heard no words. She blinked in confusion. The person knelt down beside her – a woman, terrified, panicking, and probably screaming too, but Quinn couldn't hear a thing. The woman was scaring her. The panic was almost contagious, and Quinn found herself needing to look away.

She saw a broken window above the counter in front of her, and realized why she was in so much pain – she had been thrown through a kitchen window, and was now resting on broken glass scattered across a hardwood floor.

And there was a very good reason to panic. She sat up in a single motion, but it was too quick and her vision faded momentarily. The woman put a hand on her shoulder, trying to force her back down.

'Don't move,' she was probably saying. 'You might make your injuries worse.' Quinn shrugged the arm off, and pulled herself up with the help of a nearby counter.

Her back was not broken, she told herself. She could stand, she could move, and she could breath, and even if that was all her body was allowing her to do, at the moment, it was enough.

She looked around the unfamiliar house. It was much like hers, but a little smaller, Ironically, she lived on her own, but here a family clearly lived. There were lots of doors, she saw, looking down the hallway.

Out the window, she could see smoke, and the smouldering remains of her own place. The roof was missing, and all her windows and her door and her walls. In fact, it couldn't be called a house any longer. Most structural beams had been snapped in half by the force of the explosion, the larger ones still dug into the ground but were burning. Planks of wood scattered the yard, burning like a tornado had whipped up a camp fire.

She couldn't see Lux or Valor, but panic was pushed aside with a different thought.

The _landlord is going to be mad. What was his name?_

Stumbling, she found the house's front door and struggled with it. The woman came up from behind her, undid the latch, and opened it for her. Maybe she wanted Quinn gone, after realizing Quinn wasn't willing to be an obedient patient. She was a mother and probably had her own problems to deal with.

A wave of heat immediately hit them, and the woman staggered back, but Quinn braced herself and stepped outside.

Magic explosives were terrifying things, because nobody could ever fully predict their effects, aside from their maker. They could distort gravity or time, explode with icy fragments capable of penetrating any shield, burn with the heat of a thousand suns, or turn the region into a vacuum, suffocating those within.

Magical bombs could stab every nerve in the body, inflicting incomparable pain without ever showing evidence on the outside, or it could simply stop a person's heart. Bystanders were never safe, either, because of side effects which manifested hours, days, or even weeks later.

So it left Quinn feeling simultaneously relieved, horrified, and confused when her instincts told her the explosion hadn't had a trace of magic within it. Relieved for obvious reasons, horrified because Lux's shield – meant to block magic – would have been practically worthless against it, and confused because she had been expecting, if anything, an assassin. A bomb was a completely different modus operandi, and Quinn couldn't even be sure if the one responsible for it was the same one who had had her attacked in the Demacian capital.

She stepped out onto the road, the wet, sticky feeling of blood running down her spine keeping her focused on the matter at hand, rather than drifting off to some semi-unconscious state where she wouldn't be of help to anyone.

"Lux?" she shouted, her ears barely hearing the muted sound.

She rapped the side of her head, as if the action would dislodge whatever was sabotaging her hearing, and then carefully picked her way forward. Her door was laying flat in the middle of the road, clearly blown off its hinges, and heavily charred. She stepped around it, a cough racking through her body as she inhaled the first wisps of smoke.

Her back was assaulted by more pain, and she gingerly ran a hand along it. It was a bad decision, because her hand came back cut and bloodied; glass was still embedded in her back.

She squinted into the wreckage and fumes, trying not to imagine what had become of Lux. Movement caught her eye, and before she could call out again, Valor flew out of the smoke. His feathers were ruffled, but he looked uninjured.

Throwing her thoughts back to the moment of the explosion, she couldn't remember where he had been. Certainly closer to the house than her, but perhaps he had had time to turn upwards, and take to the sky? The resulting shock wave must have caught him mid flight, but Quinn was thankful he hadn't been hurt beyond a few dishevelled feathers.

"Valor," she coughed. "Where is she?"

The Demacian eagle turned back and led her into the smoke. She paused only once, to take a deep breath of clean air.

Entering the smoke was like entering an entirely separate world. Her peripheral vision ceased to exist and she could only see a few meters ahead at any given time, and as she struggled to keep pace with Valor, avoiding debris on the ground, her eyes watered and she was forced to blink every second to try to keep focus. The world was small, the pain was at the forefront of her mind, and her lungs ached, but she was afraid to inhale.

Sound was coming back to her, but she didn't appreciate the fact, for all she could hear was the crackling of fire, and the occasional snapping of wood as more pieces fell from the structure of her house.

Eventually, Valor slowed, and Quinn took the opportunity to drop to the ground to crawl forward like a toddler. The air was marginally better, and she risked taking another breath, fighting the coughing spree that threatened to follow.

The thought that she was potentially burning her lungs from inhaling the smoke was scary, but Lux's well-being scared her more.

At first, Quinn assumed what she saw was a pile of wood, but Valor landed next to it, and she realized it was otherwise.

" _No_." The intense heat and smoke around her made the word sound more like a dying gasp, than anything.

Everything beyond the smoke, in the other world, ceased to matter to Quinn. All the people who wanted her dead, and all the people who thought they could use her, and the few that actually respected her, none of them were of importance any longer, because Lux had been hurt.

It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. She shouldn't have cared about what happened to any Demacians, nobles, or mages – let alone someone who was all three – but Lux had approached her, and not for any silly reason like for killing an assassin, but simply because she wanted to be friends.

And now she was on the ground with her head resting on a burning wooden beam and her body partly obscured by debris. Though she was unmoving, it seemed her aura hadn't given up on fending off the fire, and Quinn watched as flames licked at her hair, igniting the golden strands momentarily before dying as they withered and crumpled brown, then black, and then into nothingness.

The explosion hadn't thrown her away – perhaps her shield had offered more protection than Quinn had initially thought – but it hadn't left her unscathed.

Quinn scrambled forward and began pulling away the burning wood. She hardly noticed the fire tickling at her own fingers.

Lux's left arm was bend at an awful angle and her skin pink and blistering in some parts, red and raw in others. Her clothing, much like her hair, had done its best to withstand the fire, but there were only scraps left, revealing bleeding wounds and, on her shoulder, a sickeningly white colour, where the skin had been thoroughly burned and transformed into a leathery texture.

Quinn closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning Lux from yesterday – from last night, with the innocent and bright smile on her face – and when she opened her eyes again, nothing changed.

What was she supposed to do?

Lifting Lux's head up as gently as possible, Quinn set it on her lap. Lux's neck had been relatively well protected, and the skin there was warm and smooth as Quinn searched for a pulse. Mercifully, she quickly found it.

Lux was alive.

Quinn breathed a sigh of relief, momentarily forgetting they were still sitting in a blazing inferno.

_Now what?_

There wasn't an enemy to plan against, nor any attack to prepare for, which she did best. As far as first aid went, she knew to bandage wounds, but fire was a completely different threat. Never once, in all her years of travelling, had she been caught in a forest fire. She had ran from them, and watched them afar, and walked in their aftermaths, but how were burn wounds supposed to be cared for?

_No. Move, first._

Even if she was unable to think any further, she knew they needed to get out of the smoke and somewhere safe – a hospital, perhaps.

Finding her feet more unsteady than usual, she picked the girl up and stood. With Lux in her arms, she left the burning remains of the building behind. By the time they had cleared the smoke, a small gathering of people were on the road, watching.

They were dressed in ragged clothes, and it was easy to imagine they had been caught in the fringe of the blast, rather than living their everyday lives in such a state of disrepair. Someone stepped forward – a girl maybe Quinn's age – but a man put a hand on her shoulder, and she stopped, before slinking back into the crowd.

_Mortals shouldn't mingle in the lives of champions._

Who had said that? Had she read it in a book somewhere? Nonetheless, those were the words she recalled, as she wished she could be one of the generic faces in the crowd, dealing with worries of food and shelter, instead of life and death.

Like she were some sort of deity, the people parted as Quinn stumbled down the road. Hundreds of onlooking eyes and silent mouths. Once through the gates and out of the slums, she faltered.

Where was she to go? There were choices – hospitals and healers all around – but the wrong decision could cost Lux's life. She closed her eyes for a second, mapping out what she knew of the city and its hospitals.

All the while, the weight in her arms, though in reality very light, felt like the entire weight of Runeterra itself.

When no immediate decision forced its way into her mind, she took a deep breath.

_Life and death._

There was no situation in which hesitation or delay would be the correct choice, so even if she was wrong and added another mistake to her list, she had to at least try – to act even when it was so difficult to do so.

The closest hospital wouldn't work. The one closer to the Institute of War would be able to offer better care. That was a decision.

Opening her eyes again, she saw two people approaching. _Demacians_ , she realized. _Help_.

The man was recognizable as the person whom Prince Jarvan had said was in charge while he was out; Taric. The woman, though never someone Quinn thought could be a friend, was certainly a welcome sight at the moment. Fiora stared at them for a second, before rushing over.

" _Merde,_ " she swore. "Why is Lux – what happened?"

An explanation was beyond Quinn's ability. She didn't even remotely understand what had happened, herself.

"Help," she said, dropping to her knees and setting Lux on the ground.

Taric strode forward, and instinctively Quinn and Fiora backed off, giving him a wide berth to operate. He stopped a meter short of Lux, and rose his staff high into the air.

The staff was made of old wood – not of Demacian origin – and, locked into place atop the staff, was a single, polished gem. A perfect, cyan sphere which appeared to be burdened with a great mass of magic. For as long as Quinn could remember, Taric had walked around with the staff, as though the gem on top was the most prized gem in his entire collection and he couldn't let it out of his sight.

"Disassemble," he said.

It obeyed.

The large gem separated from the rod with a crack, and rose, while the rod itself silently broke apart into countless splinters of wood that drifted, forgotten, to the ground. Taric's eyes were locked on the gem. When it reached twice his height, it came to a stop, and silence pervaded the streets. Quinn wanted to say something – to tell him to hurry up – but she knew she couldn't interrupt.

"The Shattered Harbinger," Taric intoned, "the Protector, the Albatross, recognize my offering – as I recognize the cost – and grant thine powers unto this girl."

The gem turned white, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, Quinn found herself staring into a larger than life snow-globe.

The dirt on the ground was drained of colour, until it was an ashen floor, like that following a volcanic eruption, and the blood on Lux's face and legs slowly lost their saturation, turning a grim, dark gray. Her skin turned a lighter gray, the lightest colour affected, and even as Lux's lips lost their colour, Quinn's fear dissipated.

The gem was gone, shattered into minuscule flakes – of stone, of jewel, or possibly of something else entirely – and there were many more than could have possibly been contained within the gem in the first place. The white flakes swirled around like snow caught in a blizzard. Helpless, aimless, chaotic. Gradually, the first ones began to settle on the ground, and on Lux, whom showed no signs of consciousness.

Quinn felt a calmness descend upon her as she put her trust in Taric's actions. There was no reason for her to have so much confidence in Taric, but she'd never resented him for his magic; perhaps because its power source was somewhere far away, not on Runeterra.

She could only stay hopeful, as the area around Lux lost all colour, turning into a drab, monochrome oil painting.

Taric took a quick step backwards, as though afraid to be touched by one of the snowflakes, and his taut expression revealed anxiety for a microsecond. Confidence just as quickly returned, and the three Demacians watched as the magical snow finished its descent.

"What did you do?" Quinn finally whispered, for speaking any louder felt like it would betray some unspoken rule.

"I did nothing," Taric said. "The Protector has intruded upon this world, to lend us his assistance. A stasis, it appears. Time. Time to assemble healers, and transport Lux to the hospital. Fiora, find Sona. Bring her to the hospital."

"She's at Blighton Hall?" Fiora said, after a moment spent regaining her wit. She, too, was apparently impressed by Taric's show of power.

"A likely prospect," Taric nodded. "I shall see Lux transported and make contact with Soraka."

Fiora left, starting at a quick walking pace, but decided better of it and began jogging away. Time was of the essence – a fact which Taric hadn't said, but communicated nonetheless.

Quinn struggled with herself for a moment. Lux looked like a silver statue, frozen in the act of dying, as though to be a message for all those who saw her. What was the message?

_Stay away from Quinn._

She took a few steps back, watching as Lux was levitated off the ground and started to drift away from her.

Taric began moving in sync with the statue, but he heard Quinn's footsteps. "Quinn, tell me where you are going. You need medical assistance. Come to the hospital with us."

"I'm fine," she mumbled. "I have something to do. I need to go."

Taric looked between her and Lux, and silently made his decision. It wasn't worth it to argue with Quinn, and for that, she was thankful. He had his priorities straight. He would be able to save Lux.

* * *

There was nothing to do, and nowhere to go.

_No one to kill._

Quinn had lied, and while she might not have been very convincing, she knew she needed to get away. It wasn't just her house, or Lux, she needed to get away from, but the entire city and everything and everyone inside of it.

She should consider the assassination attempt a punishment for her indecision. Wanting to leave the city, but fearing the unknown threats, she had stayed and ended up endangering Lux.

It had also been partly because of her wanting, for perhaps the first time, companionship beyond Valor.

And this had been punishment for her cowardice and greed.

Decisiveness was necessary, now. It didn't matter what Karma's tasseomancy had discovered, or how many people wanted to kill her. She would leave, and ignore it all. She wouldn't get Lux involved, or anyone else, and in a way, it would be easier. There would be only herself to be responsible for.

She hadn't ever felt welcome in the Demacian capital, or Senta, but at least the forest never tried to kill her. Only occasionally did she run into a beast, or a beast into her, and in those situations, it never felt personal. They were always hungry, or territorial, sometimes both, but they couldn't have cared if she was human, deer, or bear.

Attacking her while she lay in bed, and blowing up her house, harming someone else in the process? Those were personal.

And if she was being honest with herself, deep down inside, hadn't she suspected there was danger about, in the moments before her house had exploded? Why else had she kept her distance, and watched? Curiosity was a feeble excuse, and she'd made Lux pay heavily for it.

A tree had fallen over, and was in the process of decaying. It was in Quinn's way, and she tried to jump over it but misjudged the height and instead barreled into it, causing a family of wood thrushes to dart away from where they'd been hiding in the nearby shrubbery.

She cursed the log, kicking it until the rotted wood broke apart, the soft chunks flying everywhere and revealing the bugs scurrying around inside. Satisfied it was no longer a threat to her, she moved around it and continued forward.

Deer droppings subconsciously drew her towards an animal trail, and she followed it, seamlessly switching into hunting mode, as though she'd been foraging in the forest and had been on the trail for days. Her hands went for her crossbow, but they found nothing on her back. Where had she left it? She wasn't so carefree as to forget it at a previous camp, and even if she was, Valor most definitely wasn't.

_Exploded. Destroyed. Burned, gone, disintegrated._

She growled to herself, losing interest in the hunt, and instead pulled out her short sword, using it to swing at the branches that dared to get in her way. All deer within a hundred meters would hear her racket, but she wasn't hunting. She wasn't hungry – at least, not for food. It was weird to actually recognize the feeling of blood-lust, and she wondered if it was what Vladimir felt all the time.

If she stopped moving for even a second, she would be able to hear her blood thumping in her ears, and if she closed her eyes, she knew all too well what she would see, so she kept moving, struggling to break into a run but always slowed down by the trees, rocks, and uneven ground.

Instinct told her she was moving in a roughly southern direction, which would lead her towards the Great Barrier. Valor would find and join her eventually – he always did.

Where had he disappear to, anyways?

She broke into a small clearing. A crested serpent eagle was watching her from atop a lone, isolated tree. She stopped in her tracks, staring upwards for long seconds, momentarily forgetting what she was doing.

"Who are you looking at?" she shouted.

There was no response – the bird might have been a statue, for all it mattered.

"Damn you!"

She made a beeline for the tree, pulling out her short sword – the only weapon she had on hand – and kicking the trunk and swinging her sword at it. The bird flew off, squawking at her, rather inelegantly for an eagle, until he was too far away to be heard, and Quinn kicked the tree again, swearing.

The short sword was embedded several inches into the tree, and she couldn't pull it out. She hadn't thought that she had put that much force into the swing, but after a minute of fruitlessly wiggling the blade, she let go, stumbling back a few steps and looking around the forest.

There was nothing to see that she hadn't already seen a thousand times before, but perhaps that was why she was suddenly suspicious.

"Come at me!" Quinn shouted, thumping her fist against her chest. "I've had enough of these half-assed attempts!"

Her senses were working in overdrive, and she felt great. There simply was no other way to put it. Without either her crossbow or short sword in hand, she was light. With fists drawn, half bouncing on the balls of her feet already, she took a brawler's stance as she prepared for the enemy she knew was coming. It might have been the pain from the glass shards embedded in her body, but she couldn't remember a time when her awareness had been sharper.

Her eyes scanned the shadows, intuitively pinpointing locations from which an enemy might strike, and simultaneously she was aware of the bugs on the ground and the way the wind travelled through the clearing, rustling the leaves and grass.

Not the smallest of movements escaped her, and her hearing was equally as acute. The location of all the birds and rodents were so obvious to her, as they scurried around the forest.

There were no secrets left, except the location of her enemy. Whomever stepped forward to fight her would see her at her best, and their death would be inevitable.

Spinning around in circles, she faced all the trees of the forest in turn, looking for the enemy. Valor was late. He should have rejoined her already, but there was no need for him, today. She would fight on her own, and prove her own strength – not to anyone else, for there was nobody watching them, but to herself, so she wouldn't need to doubt her abilities.

Quinn didn't care who revealed themselves. Whether it was a monster of the forest, an assassin, or whatever demon was hunting her – she didn't care.

"Cowards!"

Nothing responded, and Quinn stopped for a moment. She stopped turning around, and held her breath, waiting intently.

Her demands were answered in the most heart stopping way possible.

A firm hand settled on her shoulder, encasing her in a crushingly tight grip. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Quinn turned her head fractionally. Bony fingers immediately justified her apprehension. Rather than ligament, magic held the finger joints together, and the bones were a faint grey colour, aged by the passage of time.

Her gut reaction was to twist away and free herself, but when she tried, the hand closed tighter on her shoulder, and she winced. Turning her head further, Quinn found an explanation that only forged a thousand more questions in her mind. Her assailant wasn't human, nor beast, but much, much worse.

And the reason her assailant had managed to sneak up on her wasn't because it was stealthy – far from it, in fact – but rather, it was because it had yet to take a step in their _dimension_. An Unwilling Passenger was leaning through a portal, its hand reaching out to hold onto her.

He was trying to pull her into his dimension.

The portal itself was like looking into a dark cave, through a stretch of waterfall – everything was blurred, and a constant stream of magic seemed to be pouring down from nowhere, and dissipating into nothingness when it hit the ground.

Unfortunately for Quinn, the Passenger was much taller than her, so she found herself staring into the empty chest cavity, where a human heart once beat. The smell was worse than she'd remembered – almost a debilitating stench which caused her to have to actively refrain from vomiting.

The Unwilling Passenger stared down into her eyes. The threads which were meant to clasp its mouth shut had unraveled, and its mouth was wide open, as though petrified mid-scream, blood dripping from the cracked lips down its chin. It made no sound, but it didn't need to. She could easily imagine what it was saying.

_Come._

Quinn swore, yet despite her awkward position, she still managed to bring her fist up and give its jaw her strongest uppercut. The head shook violently, blood and spittle flying everywhere, but she knew she'd just done more damage to her own hand than to the Passenger.

"No," Quinn grunted, as a game of tug-o-war began between them.

Her dream was to go exploring other dimensions, but not in this way.

When her hand was pulled through the portal, she had a feeling she'd experienced something very similar before.

The moment when she had touched Thresh's lantern. A complete loss of sensation in the hand – no warm, no cold, no pain or pressure, yet she knew it was still attached to her body and could respond to her commands.

Both her train of thought, and the Passenger's attack, were interrupted by a screech, followed by a bird dive bombing them. Claws gashed the head, and Quinn took advantage of the slight opportunity to break free.

She had been doing a lot of stumbling and falling lately, but this time she was sure footed, and without even looking back, she ran.

Questions upon questions compounded themselves in Quinn's mind. There hadn't been any signs of a tornado going through the area, so how exactly had an Unwilling Passenger nearly open a portal on top of her, and why was it trying to drag her in, rather than outright kill her?

The answers couldn't be pleasant, so she kept running.

* * *

Quinn, far from the scene of the attack and out of breath ten minutes ago, stepped into a clearing, belatedly realizing it wasn't empty.

A few meters away, sitting in between the branches of a fallen tree, was a boy. He looked to be in the midst of his teenage years, and was holding a stick, whittling away at it with a knife. His posture was slumped, his coat overly large, and his shoes worn with age, its laces frayed at the ends. A bald patch on his head, just above his right ear, was the most distinguishing feature he had.

Quinn didn't see how he could pose a threat.

Watching for a minute, she came to a few conclusions. The way he looked behind himself every so often indicated he wasn't comfortable with his surroundings, yet he didn't look forward, probably because he didn't expect danger to approach from the front, where the clearing would give much warning.

He was trying to shape the stick, shaving off small bits of wood at a time, but he was struggling at the task. Resting beside him, against the log, was a large, wooden bow. It was much too large for the boy, and looked old and fragile – no longer suitable for hunting. If Quinn had to take a guess, he was from the city, the bow didn't belong to him, and he was trying to make an arrow.

He didn't appear to be too concerned about his situation, though.

People and conversation should have been the last thing on Runeterra that Quinn wanted, and she knew she should turn the other direction and walk away. Whatever the boy was doing, or thought he was doing, was stupid and pointless, and it didn't interest Quinn in the least.

She opted to stay and watch him.

_You're insane_ , she told herself.

With a look of disinterest, the boy stabbed the knife into the wood beside him and threw away the stick. It landed next to Quinn, and the boy looked up, then back down to the grass. Doing a double take, he jumped to his feet, eyes comically wide as he stepped back, away from her, and tripped over the log he had been sitting on. He fell over backwards, momentarily lost out of view before climbing back to his feet, branches and leaves from the shrubbery caught in his hair and stuck in the zipper of his coat.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he said, his voice squeaking.

"No reason to be afraid," Quinn said, rising her hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not going to harm you."

He didn't relax, and instead stared at her hands distrustfully.

Quinn turned her hands inwards, looking at her palms before sighing. They were caked with blood. Lux's blood, her own, and possibly a few drops from the Unwilling Passenger. Not a pleasant combination, unless she was an alchemist with some evil concoction in mind.

"Okay," she said, "I realize I probably didn't do the best job of convincing you."

"No. You didn't."

"It's animal blood," she lied. If he knew it was human blood, things would probably become harder to handle. "I just haven't found a river to clean up, yet."

The boy climbed back over the log, still wary of her. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. I thought this clearing was empty, but I guess not." She knelt down, picking up the stick he had discarded. "You were trying to make an arrow?"

"Yes."

Balancing the stick on two fingers, she pressed down against it with her thumb. The arrow shaft snapped with a little effort.

"Hey!" the boy shouted, taking a couple steps forward.

"What? You tossed it."

"I wasn't done with it," he said.

She let one of the pieces fall to the ground, and pointed the other at him. "Do you know what this is?"

"A broken arrow," he whined, leaping forward and snatching it out of her hand with surprising agility.

"Softwood," she said, no longer paying attention to him as she walked along the circumference of the clearing. "A variant of the Demacian pine. You nock that arrow with even the smallest amount of force and it's going to snap on release, destroying the bow. With your weak arms, it will probably shatter your bones too. Stay away from pines. They aren't dense enough."

Quinn found what she was looking for. Reaching up, she snapped off a low hanging branch. She returned to the boy and handed it to him. "Now, I'm not saying softwoods are bad – you don't want to pass up a nice balsa wood arrow – but you need to go for something like this, if you're a complete newbie."

"This is?"

"Alder. Not an ironwood, but you aren't going to find any ironwoods in the forest around here."

The boy looked like he was debating something, and Quinn waited patiently. Finally, he spoke.

"No offense, miss, but you look like shit."

The contrast in vocabulary almost made Quinn smile. "I feel worse. I think."

She hadn't had enough time to exactly figure out how she felt, but retiring to work on a farm didn't sound all too bad, things considered. Treasure hunting and dimension exploring didn't sound so appealing as they did when she had woken up six hours ago.

"Are you dying?" the boy said suddenly. "Did you come out here to die?"

"What? No. Why would you say that?"

"Well... you smell like smoke, your hands and clothing are all bloody, and you look like a zombie."

"What exactly does a zombie look like?" Quinn asked, envisioning the Unwilling Passenger she had struggled against earlier.

"Well, sort of like Amumu, but without the bandages."

She paused. "Amumu?"

"The Yordle mummy in the League of Legends."

"Wait – how would you know what he looks like without bandages?"

"I don't, but I imagine he would look like a zombie."

Quinn sighed. "That doesn't help other people to know what a zombie looks like then, if it's all in your imagination."

"Hmm. I guess you're right."

He didn't seem too disturbed by the realization, and instead returned to his log and sat down. Quinn joined him, and she was hit by a wave of exhaustion.

She wasn't actually going to die, was she? Her body had only been making a bare minimal amount of complaints, and the recent bout of adrenaline had kept her ignoring anything and everything her body said.

Letting herself slump a little, she waited a few moments, expecting the boy to say something. He didn't.

"So," Quinn said. "Tell me. What are you doing out here?"

"I knew it," the boy said, glaring at her. "You adults are all the same."

"Fine, whatever," Quinn said. "I'm not here to get on your case. Really, I would have rathered you not be here at all – and no, it's not because I'm looking to die in peace. I suspect I'll be very far from peace, when I die. Now, here, hand me your knife."

He gave her a dubious stare.

"I promise I won't stab you with it."

It took two hands for him to pry the knife out of the log, and he passed it over to her a moment later.

"You're pretty trusting, you know," Quinn said.

"Whatever."

The knife was old, but of high quality. Its handle was wrapped in layers of brown leather, and the blade itself was sharp and twice the length of the handle. The first few inches of the metal were serrated, good for cutting through tougher material, and the rest of the blade was straight, only curving a little at the tip.

Turning it around in her hand, she had the fleeting thought of stabbing the boy, and the knife fell from her grip, landing in the grass at her feet. She stared at it in shock.

Oblivious to her thoughts, the boy gave her a sidelong stare, but apparently wasn't curious enough to start a conversation.

Taking a deep breath, she picked the knife up again.

The act of whittling an arrow was a unique experience. Books – pages upon pages of mystery or action or romance – offered escapism and a way to pass idle time and rest her mind, but when she truly needed something to clear her mind, and didn't want her thoughts to be wrapped up in the actions and emotions of a story's protagonist, nothing beat making arrows.

The knife in hand was strangely comforting, even though she'd never used it before, and the bark peeled away with ease, revealing the paler insides of the branch, which she could pear away like it were a fruit.

With each strip of wood falling to the ground, she could process a single thought, and with this manner of working, the minutes passed in silence.

Individual minutes didn't matter in the forest. The only thing that mattered was the sun – or moon's – position in the sky. It was for this reason that she didn't know how long they sat in silence, before the boy finally spoke.

"So why are you out here? What are you doing that you can stop and sit and fletch arrows?"

Ignoring the fact that she wasn't actually fletching, she thought for a moment. She was tempted to bring up the hypocrisy in the question, but it wouldn't have brought the conversation far, so she refrained. "I always have time to hone my skills."

"That's not answering my question," he needled.

"I ran away." Was it supposed to be cathartic, to admit it? Was that why she hadn't left as soon as she saw someone else in the clearing? It didn't seem like a solution her mind would come up with on its own, but here she was.

The boy stifled a laugh. "That's my line."

"Is it? Maybe that's a popular line. Though I think I have a rather good reason to run."

"What's your reason? You a criminal? A murderer?"

He seemed excited at the prospects, and Quinn shook her head, lying on both accounts. "You first. What's your story?"

"My sister sucks and my mom is completely unfair."

"What about your dad?"

"Dead."

"Okay."

The boy glared at her. "What do you mean, 'okay'?"

"I mean, 'okay'. You haven't given me your reason for running away yet. I'm waiting for the rest."

"I just told you!" he said with a stomp of his foot.

Quinn hid an amused smile. "No you didn't. You think hating your family warrants abandoning them and running away?"

"I don't hate my mom. She's just unfair."

"So you decide to steal your father's bow and run into the woods?"

"How'd you know it belonged my father?" he said, picking it up and holding it close against his chest.

"I think anyone could figure it out. You really should go home. Running away from your troubles isn't a fix. Especially if it involves trying to live in the forest with no survival skills. In fact, I'm thinking you're a little worse off than you were before."

"Quit judging me. You ran away too. Maybe you should go home."

"Nah," Quinn sighed. "That would be dangerous. Someone tried to kill me and I'm really sick of having to worry about it all."

"Why don't you just not run from them? If they're your problem, quit being a hypocrite and face them like you tell me to do to my problems."

Quinn considered his words. Wasn't _he_ supposed to be the hypocrite? In either case, his bossiness and nasally voice were annoying. And there was nothing wrong with being a hypocrite. It was perfectly fine.

"Maybe I would," Quinn said. "If I knew who tried to kill me."

"You're not stupid, are you?"

Quinn couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, but she was beginning to regret choosing conversation. "No."

"Then face everyone."

"What?" Though it clearly wasn't what he meant, the possibility that everyone was trying to kill her ran through her mind.

"Face everyone. If you face everyone, then you're also facing whoever wanted to kill you. Then, once you see them trying to kill you, kill them first!"

"It's kind of worrisome that I can't immediately refute your logic."

He grinned, looking excited at the prospect of killing. "Haha, I win!"

"Oh? Was this a competition? Because I'm pretty sure having people out to kill me is worse than having an unfair mother and mean sister."

"Fine. I get it. I'm going home, anyways. It's no fun out here."

It rarely was.

True to his word, the boy stood up and left the clearing, without even saying a goodbye. Quinn didn't mind. It wasn't like they would ever see each other again.

* * *

"I'm better now, Valor. Sorry."

Valor gave her a doubtful stare as they came to a stop.

"Better, I said. Not perfect. I probably owe you more than turtle or two, for putting up with me, so cheer up."

Quinn had returned to the edge of the first clearing, where she'd been attacked by the Unwilling Passenger. It had been on Valor's suggestion, and she had wanted to retrieve her sword. Besides, she had a feeling the Passengers wouldn't make another attempt on her again so soon. Or at least, she hoped so, and Valor felt similarly.

"Nothing," Quinn said, watching from the bushes.

Valor entered the clearing first, flying a loop around the lonely tree in the center, before landing on the same branch the serpent crested eagle had been on earlier. Quinn entered the clearing a moment later, and immediately saw why he had insisted they return.

In the grass, below where the portal had opened, was the only sign there had been an attack. A bone hand and accompanying arm. She nudged it with her foot. Had the portal closed on the arm, lopping it off? Quinn didn't know, but she also didn't want to touch it any further. More importantly, what was she supposed to do with the arm?

It would feel wrong, to leave it there. Burying it didn't feel right either. It was silly, but she could effortlessly imagine it growing, like a tree, until the arm had an entire body and it uprooted itself and went hunting for her.

Her short sword was still embedded horizontally in the tree, and she watched it from a distance for a moment. It looked like an incomplete ritual, with the drops of blood on the grass, an abandoned bone arm, and her sword stuck in an isolated tree at the center of a clearing.

When she went to retrieve her sword, it came out with minimal effort, and she half stumbled backwards, unprepared for the lack of opposition. How bad of a state had she been in, before, if she hadn't even been able to accomplish such an easy task?

"What do we do with the arm?" Quinn asked.

Valor flew down from his perch, and ruffled his feathers.

"You're not a dog."

He hopped over, grabbing it with his claws.

"Fine. Take it, but I don't ever want to see it again."

He would add it to his junk collection. Quinn had never seen any of his collections herself – he made a new one in every region they visited, finding somewhere inaccessible to humans to store the items – but she knew he collected abandoned and lost items in the forest all the time. Any spare money she had was also handed over to him to store.

"I know what's after me, now," Quinn said. "The Unwilling Passengers. They aren't as much of a threat when I'm expecting them. Valor, we could leave. I could fight them off, if they ever tried to attack me again. The Mogron Pass is a three, maybe four day hike south. Isn't it about time we go south of the Great Barrier? Explore Shurima, see if maybe we can get access to Bandle City, and catch a boat to Ionia?"

Valor gave his response by taking to the skies, laden with the weight of the arm, and becoming a speck among the clouds in the distance. Quinn stared in the direction he left in and sighed.

"Is that what you want, or what's best for me?" she said to the empty clearing.

But she already knew the answer – it was both. Demacian eagles were selfless creatures. She began to trudge after him.

At the very least, Irelia and Janna would be able to offer her more insight into the Unwilling Passengers.

* * *

Valor still had the Passenger's arm with him, so he didn't descend for their hike back to the city. At the outer gates, Quinn found herself proven wrong. She ran into the boy from the forest. He'd apparently taken his time finding his way back to the city, because Quinn had taken a large detour and made it back at the same time as he did.

When he heard her footsteps and looked behind himself, he didn't look too pleased.

"Are you following me, making sure I go home or something?"

"No," Quinn said.

"You'd better not be." He eyed her short sword, which she hadn't had when they first met.

Initially, Quinn thought they would head separate ways once inside the walls, but they both made an immediate left, into the slums. Again, he gave her a displeased glare.

She shrugged. "It's a coincidence. Quit being so conceited – I don't care about you."

Still together, they turned onto the road Quinn's house had been on. When the house remains entered their view, the kid picked up his pace.

"The window!" he shouted, once they were closer. Quinn completely forgotten, he ran to the house opposite of hers and threw the door open, running inside. "Mom? Are you okay?"

Quinn watched as the door closed, and then she was left standing in the middle of the street. Her house was still smoking, but the fires had died. She didn't know why she wanted to pass by her house, but she regretted doing so. There was nothing to see. It had been her home for all of two days, and she hadn't moved in any possessions – aside from her crossbow – so there wasn't much loss to mourn.

Only once she began moving again did she realize she was wrong.

There was something to _hear_ , so there had to be something to see. The sound of someone rummaging through debris caught her attention. She crossed the street, picking her steps carefully as she tiptoed onto the lawn. The shuffling sound became louder, and reluctantly, she stepped through the threshold of what had once been her house. In her wall-less room, a pile of rubble, which might have once been part of her bed, shifted.

Cautiously, she approached it.

To her amazement, she could hear the muffled sound of a whiny, panicked voice.

"No fuse. No fuse, is this a ruse? The fuse, don't confuse! Where's the fuse? A fuse, any fuse to accuse!"


	17. Rhyme

"Who made this? A loser? No effort! No effort, where's the effort? It's a disaster, a shame. How lame!"

"Who are you and what the hell are you doing?" Quinn said, poking the furry lump with the tip of her sword.

It delved deeper into the pile of rubble, and then shifted around to reveal a hairy, soot covered face. The first thing Quinn saw were goggles and a perfectly white set of much-too-wide teeth, and she had half a mind to stab the thing right then and there, because whether or not it was responsible for the bombing, it was certainly a talking monster.

"It's a Quinn!" the thing exclaimed. "And it meets a Ziggs! How fantastic, where are the explosions? Fireworks and reception? It's bombastic!"

Quinn sighed and put her sword away. The Yordle was a champion of the League, and while she'd heard of the name once or twice, she hadn't realized how completely, utterly insane he was. Even speaking with him was headache worthy.

"And what are you doing here?" Quinn said.

"Investigation!"

Ziggs didn't seem to see her as an interruption, because he returned to his work, pulling out random pieces of charred wood and nails, sniffing them in turn and throwing them into different piles on a cleared out section of nearby dirt. Quinn watched the process, trying to figure out what ends he was working towards, but the piles were steadily growing taller, and her confusion deeper.

Eventually, the name finally hit her. Her Yordle landlord.

"Are you here because Tinns asked you to investigate?" she said.

"She's no Tinns, not a Minns nor a Mittens, or any Finn. Could it have been a Quinn?"

"What – no. I didn't ask you to be here. 'She', you said? Who is she?"

"Lynn, almost! I think the boom didn't respect the room, and that's where it all is! Who, you ask? The Sheriff, I say and quiver until I shiver. She threatened to cook my liver!"

"Caitlyn told you to investigate," Quinn finally concluded.

"And so she bestowed upon me the responsibility to see... _boom!_ " He lurched towards her, and Quinn stumbled back, intent on keeping a certain distance between them.

He broke into laughter, rubbing his eyes and apparently oblivious to the fact that he had destroyed the piles of rubble he had carefully been making over the past while. Once he finally calmed down, he looked up at her, and though his eyes were hidden behind green lensed goggles, she was pretty sure it was the first time he was actually looking directly at her.

"Once upon a time, I had this beautiful creation, and I had a testing fixation, so I blew up the Sheriff's station. She was furious, called me an abomination, an aberration! Threatened mutilation, said she would end my circulation," he cried, pausing for dramatic effect. "I searched for salvation, told her I would give her my cooperation! And so here is my investigation, for consideration!"

"And what have you found?" Quinn said, deciding she wouldn't translate his monologue.

"Speculation!"

"Not helpful," Quinn muttered.

He leaped forward, and Quinn tried to escape, but he was already in front of her before she could stumble over the debris and back onto the road. He held out his hand, short and furry fingers offering her a piece of rubble.

"Take it, maybe shake it, but do not forsake it!"

She took it.

"Lick it, but be careful where you stick it!"

"What? No. I'm not licking it."

"Lick it."

"No."

"If you want answers..."

Quinn waited for a rhyming follow up, but Ziggs was oddly quiet, staring at her intently. She looked around. There was nobody on the street; people were probably making large detours around the area, as rumours began to spread of a champion of the League of Legends being attacked. Cautiously, she brought the rubble closer to her face. Scratching it with her fingernail, she discovered it was metal. Perhaps from the bomb itself? Again, she checked the streets and found them empty.

She didn't have a Yordle's sense of taste, but if she needed to play along to get answers...

She licked it.

It tasted of soot. A dry taste that no amount of saliva could wash away.

Ziggs burst out laughing. "You licked it! You licked it! You actually licked it! What a weirdo. How chaotic! You're a lunatic, idiotic, so moronic!"

He fell to the ground, rolling around on his back as he laughed, further messing the piles he had so painstakingly created earlier. Quinn could feel her ears heating up, and she threw the metal fragment at him. It got caught in his fur, along with half the rest of the house's debris, and she watched him as he rolled back and forth, like a beetle stuck on its back.

"Give me answers," Quinn demanded.

"Not yet. But give me time, and I'll certainly solve this crime!"

Realizing she'd just been played by a ball of ninety nine percent fur, she left without saying another word.

* * *

Senta's best hospital was leagues above the one she'd been committed to in the Demacian capital. It was a massive structure in the middle of the city, dwarfing all the nearby houses and commercial buildings and only beaten by a select few churches, whose bell towers or spires peaked above the city's skyline. Inside, the place was very spacious. The ceiling was an extra story high, and the hallways were about the width of one of the main roads running through the city itself. It seemed almost overboard, but then again, humans weren't the only people admitted to the hospital; they had to be prepared for anything and everything.

Quinn wondered if the hospitals in Bandle City were miniature, since the region was walled off from the rest of the world by the Sablestone mountain range and they only needed to accommodate Yordles.

Arriving at the receptionist's desk, she stared dumbfounded for a minute. There was very little on the desk itself, but arrays of data, in the form of holographs, floated above the surface, and a line of receptionists were interacting with the information with waves of their hand. The scene evoked an image from a book she'd read, where technology had completely replaced paper but then magic had instilled it with a mind of its own, and the machinery rebelled against the humans, causing a great war.

Hopefully they wouldn't be going in that direction, but it certainly didn't seem like a good start.

In fact, it looked like holographic technology took precedence over everything in the hospital. Calendars on the wall, name plates on the doors to every room, and even the locks on the doors themselves all glowed and flickered with images. It might have been so prevalent because physical buttons and such were more difficult to keep sanitized, but Quinn found it more discomforting than her stay in the Demacian hospital.

"Can we help you, dear?" a heavyset woman asked from the other side of the desk. "If you require medical assistance, I can call a nurse."

The woman seemed very nonchalant about the offer, and Quinn realized she _still_ had blood on her hands and clothing. Her body, however, was holding up surprisingly well, and the woman's trained eye seemed to recognize that Quinn didn't need emergency care. Or maybe she was just unaffected by sights of violence, after years of working in the hospital.

"No. I'm here to see someone. Luxanna Crownguard."

The woman hesitated, and her coworker silently flicked over a holographic page. Quinn tried reading it, but the text was small and flipped because she was looking at it from the wrong side. She caught one part of it, 'champion of the League of Legends', and knew the rest. The receptionist glanced up at her with what looked like newfound admiration.

"Room three fifty two," the woman said, turning her attention back to the floating data in front of her. It dissolved, and new text appeared. "She's not awake at the moment, however. And please be aware that she's under guard, so you may not be able to visit her. It is a policy of the Institute of War, not the hospital. Please understand, Miss Attridge."

* * *

Lux's guard was more impressive than Quinn had first imagined.

Three summoners were stationed in the hallway, one at each end and one standing guard against the wall opposite to her room, but those weren't the only people present. Soraka and Fiora stood directly outside her door, engaged in whispers. Their conversation broke when they noticed Quinn approaching.

"Where 'ave you been?" Fiora demanded, turning on Quinn before anyone else could speak.

They'd had so few interactions before, but there was no love lost between them ever since Quinn had been promoted within the military. With no other Demacian present, it seemed like Fiora had no interest in feigning politeness.

"None of your business," Quinn said.

Soraka looked between them. "I think I will take my leave, now-"

"No need," Fiora said, shaking her head abruptly. " _Je pars_."

She left in a brisk walk, heading down the hall in the opposite direction from which Quinn had come.

"I sense bad history between you two," Soraka said. She sounded very solemn, as if the tensions between them personally upset her.

"It's not really history," Quinn said. "We're just two very different people."

Hadn't she said something similar about another Demacian, not too long ago?

Soraka regarded her quietly for a moment. "May I?"

Quinn looked around, alarmed. "What?"

"Your wounds."

"Oh."

Her ability to completely forget about the state of her appearance in a matter of minutes should have been more concerning for her. Members of the League of Legends were celebrities - the equivalent of famed war heroes in the past - and had several newspapers dedicated to them. There would almost certainly be an issue printed tomorrow with pictures of her house and her walking through the streets bloody. Who knew what the gossip would spawn.

Soraka's magic would be faster than actually checking into the hospital, and hopefully less uncomfortable.

"Please," Quinn said after a short pause.

The effect was instantaneous, starting at the center of her back and spreading out slowly. Glass, which had been embedded in her back, began to slide out as the skin stitched itself back together, and it was an oddly pleasurable experience, like finally peeling off a scab of skin. Quinn heard a couple glass shards tinkle as they hit the floor, and she straightened her back – she hadn't realized it, but she'd been slouching.

There was now even more magic in her body. Instant recovery came at a cost.

"Better?"

"Much," Quinn nodded. "Thanks."

Soraka smiled – a small but genuine action that Quinn was pretty sure was a direct result of thanking her.

A fact which had previously eluded her now gave her pause. She had never met Soraka before, and hadn't realized how _different_ the woman was, and Quinn didn't even need to take into account her singular horn protruding from her forehead, for the realization to give her pause. Soraka's dress was a silky yellow colour which contrasted with her skin, as if she wanted to make a statement about its purple hue, and her status as a celestial being was made evident through her eyes, which seemed so unnatural, as though they were seeing a completely different world from everyone else. Though it may have been true; the lens through which she saw the world made her unable to ignore the suffering of its people. She had sacrificed her immortality, in trade for living an existence of helping and protecting others here on Remnant.

Quinn found herself unable to speak. She was afraid anything she could say would be too trivial for the woman. It later occurred to her that she had been, literally, starstruck.

"You may experience some tiredness. It is a side effect of using my healing in this manner," Soraka said, indifferent or unaware of Quinn's quandary. "You came to visit Lux, then?"

"How - how is she?"

"Unconscious at the moment, but she will make a full recovery."

Quinn let out a sigh of relief, which she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She didn't know why she had been so worried – of course Lux would be fine, with some of the world's best healers at this very hospital, Soraka included. Even Taric had reassured her, before Lux had even arrived at the hospital, but hearing the words after the fact felt entirely different.

_Nobody died._

Quinn clenched her fists, noticing for the first time that the blood was washed from them, too. Soraka's powers seemed to have a greater extent than simple healing.

In a matter of seconds, she ran through the entire emotion gauntlet which she had already experience throughout the day. Confusion, fear, anger, guilt. She wanted nothing more than the opportunity to take a swing at whoever had so spectacularly failed at killing her that they had ended up harming Lux, but she knew the chance wouldn't come on its own, and she would need to hunt it down herself. But at the moment, she had other business to take care of.

When she had first entered the hallway, the Summoners hadn't stopped her from approaching the room, so Soraka was the only obstacle left.

"I'm going in to see her," Quinn said, leaving no room for debate.

When she tried the door and found it locked, she forfeited her false bravado and turned to Soraka. The woman gave her a gentle smile and waved her hand in front of the door's handle. It clicked, and when Quinn tried again, the door opened. She stepped inside, closing the door after her.

Intentionally, she refrained from looking. She wanted a few more seconds to prepare herself, so instead she focused all her attention on the bed's surroundings. The light was off and only a bare minimum of sun penetrated the window's curtain, but it was bright enough to see. The dim lighting made the holographic calendar on the wall all the brighter, and Quinn stared at it for a moment.

She hadn't yet survived her first week as a champion of the League of Legends.

How hard would faking her own death be? Would she need to? Would she want to?

The room's cyan walls bored her, and, like every hospital's creed, there was little of interest in the room. There were no plants, which was a step down from the Demacian capital's hospital, but a few magazines and books were on the bedside table. A tabloid newspaper was at the top of the pile, 'Freljord Banquet, what will happen inside this exclusive gathering of champions' in large, uppercase, bold letters as its headline. On top of the tabloid, blocking the front page picture, a scattering of envelopes. Well wishing letters, most likely.

With nothing else to examine in the room, Quinn finally looked.

The last time Quinn had seen her, Lux had been a colourless, grey statue, but now she appeared completely normal, as though she'd never been hurt in the first place and was simply in an innocent sleep. Magic, perhaps entirely thanks to Soraka, had done its job. A white hospital blanket was partially draped over her, and her face's features were peaceful, which did a great deal in helping Quinn relax.

She sat down at the chair positioned next to Lux's bed. For a minute, she simply watched the rising and falling of Lux's chest as she slept, and then Quinn reached out, hesitated, and pulled back.

It was her fault – guilt was the only natural reaction to what had happened, but she hadn't expected it to be so powerful. The only time she'd clearly felt worse than now was when she had stumbled back into Everridge, with her brother's corpse on her back. Quinn would never forget the look in her mother's eyes, when she saw them. The instant where her mother realized Caleb was dead, and Quinn had survived, and everything would forever onwards be in ruin. Quinn had left that life behind, because she recognized it was not one worth living.

This time, however, there was nobody to hate her for what had happened, and that made it all the worse. She was left on her own, stewing in her mistakes, and she knew that wasn't the worst of it.

Quinn steeled herself and then reached under the blankets to find the girl's arm, and then hand, and pulled it free of the covers. Clasping Lux's hand between her own, Quinn rested her elbows on the bed and stared at the girl's sleeping face. Even her hair had returned to normal. Quinn wasn't entirely sure how that would have worked, but it must have taken delicate magic.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely a whisper. Though she spoke the words, she didn't intend on anyone hearing them. "This is the second time I've hurt you, and for no good reason. Not that I should care, but I do, dammit."

No, it wasn't the worst of it. The worst part of all was that Lux would probably forgive her. That was the kind of person Lux was. And she would put on a smile, forced or otherwise, as she told Quinn not to worry about it, and that it wasn't her fault. What would happen then? Nothing would change, but every time she saw Lux, she would be reminded of all the times she'd hurt her.

Was the solution to avoid Lux? Find the assassin and kill him, learn more about the Unwilling Passengers from Irelia and Janna – probably during the banquet – and then leave Senta for good? It sounded like a solid plan, but for some reason Quinn wasn't content with it. Maybe it was because plans were so useless, when the future was so uncertain and vague. For all she knew, Du Couteau could do something tomorrow, and shake up Runeterra's already precarious political situation.

So little made sense and there was no reason to believe any of it would begin to make sense any time soon, but now that she was in the hospital, inside a guarded room, Quinn felt safe. She pulled the blankets up to cover Lux's shoulders, returning the girl's hand under the sheets. Only after this did she realize how tired she was. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she remembered Soraka's words. It was more tiredness than she would have expected, but it might have been all the action from earlier combining with the magic to defeat her.

A few minutes to rest her eyes couldn't hurt. Quinn pulled the chair closer to the bed and, using the bed's edge as a pillow, rested her head.

* * *

Following the disorientation of waking up in an unfamiliar place, Quinn's eyes darted to the holographic clock on the wall. Orange numbers said it was three thirty pm. She had slept for over two hours. The chair screeched when she pushed it back to stand up, and she paused for a second to make sure the sound didn't wake Lux.

The girl didn't stir, and Quinn left the room.

"Are you leaving?" Soraka was still standing guard, having moved only a few meters to lean against the wall further away. Fiora was nowhere in sight, but the three Summoners in the hall were all there, watching her.

"Yes," Quinn nodded abruptly. Her brain was telling her not to be embarrassed by her nap, but the blood rushing to her face didn't listen.

"I did not realize you two were so close," Soraka said. "Lux is lucky to have such a good friend."

"I - I'm not-"

Soraka waited patiently for Quinn to formulate a response.

"Never mind."

Soraka nodded. "These are trying times for all of Runeterra, and while I do not have the answer as to how we will pull through, I believe maintaining close ties with one another is important. We will have to rely on each other, when everything else falls."

Quinn didn't frown, but she also didn't know how to react to Soraka's words, so she remained silent.

"And in case you were wondering, Lux will not be attending tomorrow's match," Soraka continued. "She was exposed to quite high doses of magic, so she needs to rest."

"Oh." It didn't change any of Quinn's plans. In fact, she had already somewhat came to the same conclusion.

"It just so happens that I will be replacing her."

"Oh. I've got some business to attend to, so I need to get going." Quinn hesitated, remembering how Soraka had reacted when Quinn thanked her the first time. "And thank you, for helping Lux."

When Soraka smiled, Quinn was able to accept the fact that even though the woman was once an immortal being, she still had some childishness left in her. Perhaps that was why they called her the Starchild.

* * *

Quinn knocked on the headquarters door, and she didn't have to wait long for it to open. The sheriff looked slightly surprised at her presence, but Quinn didn't waste her breath on any formalities.

"I'll do it."


	18. Reason

Quinn didn't divert her eyes, no matter how much she instinctively wanted to.

"Are you sure?" Caitlyn said.

"Yes."

"You're angry."

"What of it?"

"Come in, let's talk."

Piltover was famous for its technology and innovation. Appropriately named the City of Progress, it had been the trade hub of Valoran for years, before Summoners began to congregate north of the Mogron pass and created their own city. Even with Senta's founding, Piltover never slowed. Despite their differences with Zaun, their close proximity had led, inevitably, to trade relations which both city states quickly became dependent on. And, because Zaun and Noxus were already on good terms with each other, this had granted Piltover an opening for negotiations with the war-obsessed kingdom.

Everything that existed in the world could be bought from Piltover – which the Demacians often took advantage of, when they wanted something of Noxian origin – and even Bilgewater – whom raided everyone, even their own allies – became friendly with the city state, because their citizens needed somewhere to offload their illicit cargo. In short, Piltover was able to forge strong economic ties with every kingdom, and many rich merchants and shrewd scientists immigrated to the city state. These people furthered Piltover's cause. They created marvels such as the steam engine, and big buildings, aptly named skyscrapers, and in contrast to Zaun, their inventions were reliable and long lasting, and they actually cared about aesthetics, because the entire world was watching what came out of their factories and workshops.

The Piltovian headquarters in Senta was supposed to represent all this, and more, yet it seemed to shirk all these expectations. The first thing Quinn noticed were the stones and gears. Not stone gears – the gears themselves were made out of metal – but rather the walls were a gray stone and the gears were affixed to the walls, like a painting would be in a normal residence, and most of them were idle and separated, while others were attached to one another, creating trains of various sized gears leading along the hallways until a door had to break them up.

She cautiously reminded herself they were above ground; it wasn't anything like a cave.

There was a maze of pipes above their heads, as they walked through the building, and some of them hissed and others expelled steam. A few were vibrating, threatening to break free of their brackets and explode, but Caitlyn didn't seem to notice – or, more likely, she didn't care. In either case, it definitely contributed to the humid atmosphere. She could even see water droplets condensing on the stone walls.

Arriving in a large, well lit room, Quinn realized the entire place was probably self-sufficient, or very close to it. They were using steam power for the lights and heating. At the center of the room was a table, in the most abstract of sense. It was actually a large gear laid horizontally, massive teeth jutting out with enough space for Quinn to put her arm between them. Thankfully, the gear was unmoving. Caitlyn took a seat and, laying back in her chair, crossed her arms, and throwing her feet up on the gear.

"Someone blew up your house, tried to kill you," she said.

Quinn took a seat next to her, mentally holding back a sarcastic retort. "Yes."

"And they hurt Lux in the process. I've spoken to Vessaria about it."

Quinn didn't respond.

"The Institute of War is preoccupied already. They're busy preparing for the Freljordian banquet, and investing lots of effort into trying to save High Summoner Irvine. Vessaria told me they wouldn't have time to look into the bombing. So I volunteered."

"And then you sent Ziggs."

Caitlyn frowned. "You already know about this?"

"No. I just ran into him at my house."

"I'm sorry. I would have asked if it was okay, but forensic investigations like this are best done immediately, before nature can tamper with any evidence."

"It's fine," Quinn assured her. "I appreciate the help, though he's a little..."

"Hard to deal with?"

"Yeah. Putting it nicely."

"And how are you feeling?"

"What?" Quinn said, crossing her arms.

"Are you okay? Someone just tried to kill you."

"I'm fine. It's not a big deal. I'm sure you've had to deal with stuff like this before."

"Yeah," Caitlyn said with a tired smile. "But it's never personal. They just don't want to get arrested, and somehow think trying to kill me will help their cause. But you're angry, aren't you? At least a little bit? You said so earlier."

"Sure."

"I don't want you waking up tomorrow and regretting this decision. Or not being able to focus on the match."

"I'm fine," Quinn repeated.

"And I wonder how you can convince me of it. It's nearly five pm, and I honestly didn't think you would come. Why exactly do you want to fight on the Rift?"

"Why? Isn't it enough that I'm willing to? You were trying to bribe me, earlier."

"I'd still like to hear your answer."

"Because I told Lux I would." That wasn't the truth. She just needed a clear enemy, for once. It wasn't about Lux, but Caitlyn didn't want to hear that she was angry and needed somewhere to direct her anger.

"Considering the circumstances, I think she would forgive you if you backed out," Caitlyn said.

"Are you going to let me fight or not?"

"You don't have a place to stay tonight, do you? We have a guest room here, if you'd like."

"That's not necessary-"

"Accepting would do a great deal in alleviating any concern I have."  
"But, you see, Valor-"

She stopped herself both because she didn't want to offer any weak excuse, and because of a worse realization. She'd been so self absorbed that she'd completely forgotten about Valor; she had no clue where he was or what he was doing, and she'd last seen him with the Unwilling Passenger's arm, which, with her luck, would reanimate itself and attack him.

Quinn took a few seconds to convince herself Valor knew what he was doing – and then she condemned herself to sleeping in a humid room, listening to the creaking and hissing of pipes all night long.

"Then it's settled," Caitlyn said, rising to her feet. "Orianna wants a strategy meeting in half an hour. I'm not a team member, but I'll be present to offer some input, too."

* * *

Caitlyn left, stating she had police business to attend to, before the meeting began, so Quinn was left sitting at the large, empty table on her own. In one corner of the room, she identified what she thought was an air purifier, which was humming quietly. It was doing a good job, because despite the building's contents, it didn't smell like machine oil and rock. She began contemplating the next machine in the room when the second member of their team arrived.

"I had thought you would say something, if this was your intention," Soraka said, looking about the room before taking a seat next to her. "You left the hospital rather abruptly."

"Sorry," Quinn said, though she wasn't. She also wasn't sure why she hadn't said anything further to Soraka, back in the hospital, but it was too late to worry about it now. Instead, moving on and making conversation was probably the best thing to do.

"They say Thresh is from the Shadow Isles," Quinn said. "Do you know if that's true?"

"I have yet to meet him."

"Is that why you volunteered for this match? To meet him?"

"No. He is irrelevant. My reason, as they say, is to keep my friends close, and my enemies closer."

"Your enemies?"

"Enemy, singular, in this case."

She didn't offer a name, and Quinn decided not to pry. Hopefully she was talking about someone from Zaun, and not Piltover.

"You're friends with Irelia, right?" she said, trying a different tack.

"I am," Soraka said.

"What do you know about the Unwilling Passengers?"

Soraka shook her head. "Irelia's obsession. She hasn't been the same, since she died."

"Since – wait, _what_?"

"Are you not aware? She was killed by Noxians at the end of the Noxian Invasion of Ionia."

"B-but – she's not dead."

"It depends on your definition of dead. Her soul had left her body and began its journey to Hel, but I stopped it. Of course, it is impossible to return a soul to its original body, once it leaves, so I did the equivalent of glueing it back onto her. An ugly process, and it will not last forever, but it was all I could do. Some people call her an undead, now, but she is not immortal. Far from it. She is on a time limit, and one that is much too short for a woman of her age."

"That's-" And then Quinn understood why Irelia wanted so badly to save the Unwilling Passengers, rather than kill them. A soul at odds with itself. Irelia saw them as her kin; souls that have left their body but weren't allowed to leave Runeterra. If she could save the Passengers, then there stood a chance for herself to be saved, too. "That must be hard for her."

"It is, for all of us."

"But what about Orianna? Isn't she in a similar situation? If you make Irelia a new body..."

"Orianna and Irelia are actually close friends, but their circumstances are fundamentally different. The same goes for Viktor, though I fear I would bore you, if I went into details-"

"Please do."

"Bore you?" Soraka said with a hint of a smile. "Then I shall. At its simplest, there exists a one-to-one relationship between the soul and body. Each and every human has one body, and one soul. This duality is complex in formation, easy to break, and impossible to mend. Your soul belongs to your body, and will not be content with any other. Your body, called by some as the soul's garrison, is fragile. When it is no longer safe – or capable of maintaining itself – then your soul abandons it. This, we know of as death. The quest for immortality is the quest to keep your soul content in its home, the body, for all of eternity.

"When Irelia's soul left her body, the one-to-one relationship was immediately destroyed, and she died. It isn't as simple as that, though. For all intents and purposes, we consider death as a single stage event, but it is not quite so. Death has, depending on who you ask, three stages. The soul leaves the body, and then it leaves its home dimension, and then it travels to – and enters – Hel. This process is uninterruptible. For Irelia's sake, I slowed it, before her soul could leave Runeterra. There exists a constant pull on her soul, from Hel, and eventually it will succeed.

"How long?"

"Weeks. Months. A year, at best, if she stays close by me so I can periodically strengthen the bond. But enough about Irelia. She is aware of this, and is working on a solution, and she is the kind of person who would respond to pity with anger, so you would best act normally around her. Now, Orianna and Viktor. Both of them had, at one point in time, a human body, and an accompanying soul, tied to this body. In their cases, their souls never left their body. Are you familiar with the ship of Theseus?"

"No. I recall reading about it somewhere, long ago, but I can't remember it. Something to do with philosophy?"

"Yes. Theseus was a Bilgewater shipwright, who also dabbled in philosophy. His thought experiment goes like this: if you have a ship, and piece by piece you replace every part of it – the wheel, the sails, the keel, the stern, and so forth – at the end of this, do you still have the same ship? As it turns out, this question, applied to human bodies, is answered for us by our very souls. If we replace our bodies, appendage by appendage, and organ by organ, as Viktor and Orianna did, our soul is not bothered. It will remain, though its garrison is not what it once was. The difference between Orianna and Viktor is that Viktor also replaced his brain – and consequently his mind – whereas Orianna retains her original mind. Of course, Viktor is much closer to immortality, as long as he continues replacing his body parts as needed, but it is quite possible his soul is confused, and that that confusion spurs on an obsession with his so-called 'glorious evolution'." Soraka fell silent for a second, running a finger along the metal table top, and then pulling it away and examining it closely, as though searching for dust. She sighed. "But you must remember, everything I have said pertains only to the human soul."

"Only humans? So it's different for Yordles?"

"Yordle, Voidborn, Marai, animal, monster, they're all different. There are countless races, and each has its own unique set of attributes instilled within the souls of its creatures. One of my most valuable possessions is an old diary from a being of the Shadow Isles, long deceased. He had the ability to see souls – a rare type of synesthesia – and he wrote much on the topic. Most animals have bright blue souls, like the aqua waters off a Bilgewater beach. Yordles, despite appearing quite similar to humans, are often a lime green colour, like the scales of a smooth Kumungu snake. Yet, for some reason he never elaborated on, the colour of human souls vary. They can be red, purple, white... anything. Your species is quite interesting."

* * *

The third member of their team arrived. Orianna, the team captain, stepped into the room.

People always admired how human-like she was, but Quinn couldn't see it. Orianna's skin attempted to match that of a human's, but it was metallic – lacking in saturation, the matte gray was a far cry from Quinn's own skin. It was an inappropriate thought, but her skin matched more that of a dead body, lifeless and cold. Yet somehow it was Irelia who was dead, and Orianna was considered a normal, living human.

Her movements weren't robotic, at least, but they were completely quiet. A human had bones shifting in their body, muscles contracting, ligament rubbing, and their footsteps made sound as they walked across a hard floor. Orianna lacked all of that, and she didn't breath, either. Like a ghost, she travelled across the room.

Instinctively, Quinn stood up.

"I am Orianna Reveck of Piltover," the woman said, extending her hand.

Quinn shook it. "Quinn Attridge, of Demacia."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Quinn. It is my hope that we will have a good relationship and work well together."

Orianna's hand was cold, and it was a sobering realization that that was her hand's natural state. Her body didn't regulate its own temperature, simply because it didn't need to. It was, after all, Piltovian design. Efficient.

She wasn't all gray and dreary, though. Her hair, however immobile and clumped it might have been, was gold, and so were her shoulder blades. Her skirt was a series of golden slabs, every second one's end shaped like an arrow pointing down, engraved with an unfamiliar pattern. All in all, Orianna looked like she were wearing a suit of body armour with golden trim. It was elegance in machinery, Quinn thought. Again, only something Piltover could achieve.

Orianna's ball followed after her like a puppy. It, too, was gray, and featured a single golden band around its circumference. At one point on the band, a turquoise jewel was shining, like a lone eye watching out for danger. When Orianna sat down at the head of the table, it circled her three times, moving under the table to get in front of her when necessary, and then it gently lowered itself to the ground beside her. Its light faded to dark, and then blinked back on every few seconds, as though to tell any enemies that it was only resting, and not off guard duty quite yet.

All the while, Orianna didn't move a single muscle – or gear – as she waited patiently for the rest of the team members to arrive. It was creepy, as though she had turned herself off because nothing of interest was currently happening.

The fourth team member arrived a few minutes later. A Yordle shuffled into the room, looked around, and then found himself a chair opposite of Orianna. The two Piltovians had officially arrived. While Orianna moved and spoke less than normal, Heimerdinger was on the opposite end of the spectrum. His head was always tilting and turning, and his hair – mustache included – seemed to be alive, twisting and shaking with his every movement. His fingers were in his pocket one second, and then adjusting his glasses another, and when he sat down, his feet couldn't quite reach the floor to tap the ground so instead they were bouncing in the air, like an impatient toddler strapped into a high chair.

"Quinn," Heimerdinger said, stopping his fidgeting for two seconds. "My condolences, for the loss of your place earlier today. My cousin said he wouldn't pursue any recompense for the loss of his property."

"My landlord is your cousin?" Quinn said after a pause wherein she'd tried to remember the landlord's name and failed. "Thank you."

Before any further conversation could develop, Caitlyn and Lee Sin entered the room. They were the last two to arrive, and Caitlyn closed the door behind them.

"Opposite end of the table, next to Orianna," Caitlyn said.

Quinn watched as Lee Sin navigated around the table and took his seat. There was no hesitation on his part, and, once seated, he looked around the table, as if examining every member of the team. Quinn almost held her breath when he looked at her, because she knew how much information he was getting, just by listening to her breathe. It was, quite frankly, an amazing technique. Almost like echolocation, and Quinn wondered how much magic he used to assist himself in the skill.

He seemed to watch Soraka a fraction of a second longer than the others, and Quinn wondered if some communication passed between the two Ionians.

Orianna stood up, immediately drawing his – and everyone else's – attention, despite being completely silent in her actions.

"It is apparent that everyone is here. It is July twenty fifth, twenty second year of the League Era, at five fifty pm. We begin the strategy meeting now."

* * *

Orianna pulled a folded up piece of paper out of her metal armour. With nimble fingers, she unfolded it and flattened it out on the table, before pushing it forward.

"It is an official release by the Institute of War. A paper relating to Thresh, one of our enemies."

Everyone looked around at each other, and then back to the paper.

"Orianna," Caitlyn said. "Please read it for us."

Orianna obeyed, pulling the paper back towards herself. Though she was capable of emotions – or at least, the inflection required to exhibit emotion – she read the entire page in a tinny monotone voice, with unnaturally long pauses between sentences.

Thresh was once a prison warden of a magical community on the Blessed Isles – which were now known as the Shadow Isles – and he had turned evil. In recent years, he'd been roaming the countryside between Freljord and Demacia, killing people and collecting their souls.

"Is that even possible?" Caitlyn said, when Orianna finished. "Collecting souls?"

Heimerdinger cleared his throat. "Well, surely it is – the Institute of War wouldn't lie to us."

"But Professor-" Caitlyn said, though she had no follow-up argument and fell silent.

"Manipulating souls to such an extent is beyond even my own abilities," Soraka said. "And to keep them under his control for long periods of time? I'm not sure how he does it, but he must be very powerful."

"It does corroborate with a long lasting theory," Heimerdinger said. "The Shadow Isles and its residents have some unknown preoccupation with life and death."

Soraka nodded. "If this is true, he must have a diverse collection. Humans, Yordles, monsters and creatures alike. And I must wonder, how does he store them? If he has been collecting them since the Blessed Isles, he could have hundreds – no, thousands – by now. If he has some way to use them for combat..."

The entire time, Lee Sin was staring at Quinn. She hadn't been particularly bothered by it, since he wasn't _actually_ staring at her, but eventually everyone else in the room, after having said their parts, turned to Lee Sin, and then to her. She already had no clue what she could say, as the resident Thresh expert, and under the pressure, she knew she wouldn't be able to come up with anything helpful. The Institute of War's paper had revealed more than she knew about him, aside from his fighting style.

"Does it matter?" she said, exasperated. "I don't know anything about his souls, and I didn't when I fought him, but it turned out fine."

Orianna nodded. "It is true, what Quinn says. It does not matter what his hobbies are. We focus on the battle, and his relevant capabilities."

"Though I have no evidence," Heimerdinger said, "I postulate that stealing his lantern will not suffice."

"The meeting shall proceed under the Professor's postulation," Orianna said after a short pause. "Then, I should like to know: why now? It is odd, he has not fought for Noxus or Bilgewater, despite them having matches in the past week."

"Maybe he didn't want to fight at all, but the Institute is pressuring him?" Caitlyn said. "Or maybe there just hasn't been an important enough match? If he's making a certain demand – some price for his cooperation – then it's possible Zaun is the only kingdom willing to pay it."

* * *

"It is time to discuss Warwick's position as team captain." Orianna put a piece of paper on the table. "Records indicate that the last time Warwick was team captain for Zaun was three years ago. It was a match played against Demacia, in regards to the punishment of a Demacian citizen whom was captured in Zaun while attempting to steal a certain magical item. He was sentenced to life in prison, after Demacia lost the match." Quinn could feel Heimerdinger staring at her, the only Demacian in the room. "It is believed he was team leader because Viktor was unavailable at the time. It is evident that this does not hold true now. Does anyone have insight into this matter?"

Heimerdinger tapped a finger on the table. "I have a theory. It is possible there is a connection between him and Thresh."

Soraka gasped. "His soul!"

"What about it?" Orianna said.

"Warwick was once man, but his soul has been undergoing a gradual change, as he turns into a beast. If Thresh has offered him salvation – a way to reverse the effect, or perhaps delay it-"

"But it's your soul Warwick needs, isn't it?" Lee Sin said. "Not just any soul will do."

It was the first time he'd spoken since he arrived, and it caused half the room to frown in confusion.

"I thought it was your blood he needed?" Caitlyn said.

"Years ago, that was all he needed," Soraka said, much quieter than her earlier outburst. "His transformation is almost irreversible now. At one point, a drop of my blood would have been enough. A year ago, it would have taken several litres of my blood. Now, nothing but my soul would suffice-"

"So my theory isn't very plausible," Heimerdinger said.

"No," Soraka said. "With Thresh, we cannot know. If he has the ability to manipulate souls, then he could potentially turn one into an imitation of my own-"

"Or he could be after your own," Caitlyn said.

"That is a possibility," Soraka admitted. "However unlikely. I am not human, nor any other species Thresh has ever dealt with. He would find it difficult to gain access to my soul. This is all conjecture, though. Bringing it back to battle strategy, Warwick is likely to be assisting bottom lane more than any other. He will not ignore the opportunity to cause me harm – no matter how imaginary it is."

Orianna nodded. "It is best if we leave you and Quinn to your own devices, then. Priority will be given to the Professor and Lee Sin, in the topmost lane. It is a slow battle, which Warwick wants. Not one of attrition, nor one that breaks out into chaos at the beginning. It is around the second or third hour when he'll try to make his move. We will not wait for that. Early pressure, courtesy of the Professor, with assistance from Lee Sin. I, also, will apply pressure, but it won't be as aggressive. We will aim to grow an advantage then."

"Is that all right?" Quinn said. "It sounds like Heimerdinger and Lee Sin will be doing the majority of the work."

Quinn hadn't participated much in the conversation, but she also hadn't expected complete silence in response to her question. Lee Sin sat watching her with a smile, as though she were but a young child who had made a stupid mistake. Usually, Quinn liked silences, but this one wasn't natural – it was awkward, and it had been created by her. Heimerdinger cleared his throat, and she expected him to speak, but he didn't. He stared straight ahead, fingers patiently tracing a line through his furry white mustache.

"The Professor," Caitlyn finally whispered to her. "He goes by the Professor, unless he's in battle or around fans-"

"Cecil," the Yordle interrupted. "Cecil will suffice, for someone who has never stepped into a place of higher learning."

Quinn nodded. She probably should have felt a little more insulted, both for him making such an assumption, and for practically saying she had no right to call him a professor, but she was already too busy wishing she wasn't in the room.

"I'm sorry, Cecil – and – um-" She turned to Lee Sin.

Thankfully, he could read her hesitation. "Lee Sin is fine. I've only ever been called Lee by the elderly."

The rest of the meeting passed with slow seconds, Quinn's eyes spending most of their time on the room's analog clock, which she noticed had the same design at its center as on Orianna's golden skirt. It also skipped the seventeenth second, spending twice as long on sixteen before making the leap to eighteen.

* * *

Quinn might have tried to sneak off after the meeting, but Caitlyn was immediately within arm's reach, and gave her a hard glare before seeing the rest of the team off. Once the room was empty. excepting the two of them, she circled around the table twice, as though checking for belongings that were left behind, and then she stopped in front of Quinn.

"Glad the meeting's finally out of the way. Orianna is a really organized person, so she's been bothering me about it forever – and this was supposed to be my break from the League, after being team captain so many times in the past two weeks. Anyways, dinner should be ready about now, let's go."

They moved out of the meeting room and down a few doors, into the kitchen. It seemed many pipes ended their journey here, where they pumped into machines that were busy making loud sounds and doing nothing else at all. The stone walls were almost completely obscured by shelves upon shelves of cookware, jars, and bags of food. Quinn might have expected some kind of kitchen staff to be hard at work, or maybe the table to be already set with a three course meal, but she certainly hadn't been prepared for a pink haired woman working alone over the stove.

"Heya, Quinn," the woman said, turning around.

She was taller than both Quinn and Caitlyn, and her features were very masculine, excepting the mascara and careful attention she'd devoted to her eyelashes. Her hair was bright pink, and despite being short enough to not cause problems, she wore it in a ponytail with a hairnet over top. On her left cheek, two letters. _Vi_.

Vi smiled, and though she was missing her Hextech gauntlets, Quinn could see the resemblance between her and Vi's picture in the League handbook, which she had scanned during her first night as a champion of the League of Legends. Vi had been on the last page – the book was outdated, lacking Thresh's information – and the picture had features her bulldozing a house with her fists, under close supervision of Caitlyn.

"Vi, was it?" Quinn said. She would never again presume to know someone's name – even if it was stamped on them.

Vi tapped the tattoo on her left cheek, and then gave an exaggerated bow, bringing an arm up to her chest. "That's me. Vi, five star chef, Piltover's Finest, warden, the Piltover Enforcer-"

"Fat fingers," Caitlyn muttered.

"I think you're missing an 's' somewhere in there, honey."

Caitlyn coughed, her face turning red.

"Oh. Right. Company," Vi said, unconcerned. "S'all good. You hungry, Quinn? I made beef stew, with lots of Piltovian carrots."

Caitlyn and Vi began setting the table, insisting Quinn, as their guest, take a seat and wait. A minor squabble broke out between the Piltovians over the cups, but a few minutes later everything was sorted out and Vi brought the stew to the table.

"You haven't been in the League of Legends for very long, have you?" Quinn said.

"Yeah, I joined about a month before your buddy, Thresh," Vi said, filling everyone's bowl. "I think me and the Door of Acceptance got along pretty well-"

"It's a spiteful door," Caitlyn said.

"Methinks it realized it wouldn't be right to keep us apart." The oven beeped, and Vi turned to Caitlyn with an innocent smile. "My buns are done. Caitlyn, will you grab them for me?"

Caitlyn glowered, and showed no signs of moving. A silence began to develop, wherein Quinn began to suspect there was some animosity between the two Piltovians, and it wasn't something she wanted to get between.

"Um – should I get them?" Quinn offered.

"No!" Caitlyn said, jumping to her feet. "I mean, that's not necessary. You're a guest. Please, just enjoy the meal."

"So how did the meeting go?" Vi asked once Caitlyn left the table.

"Good, I suppose. It was the first strategy meeting I've ever participated in, so I can't really say, but Orianna seems like she knows what she's doing. Though I did get off on the wrong foot with Cecil," Quinn said.

"Hmm? Oh, right. Cecil. What did he do?"

Quinn ignored the assumption. "I called him Heimerdinger."

"That old rat did it to himself," Vi laughed. "He picks such an awesome name, and expects people not to use it? Well, I wouldn't worry about it. Besides, everyone uses it when they aren't talking to him – he's not so naive as to get hung up on it. I mean, he knows he's a little odd like that. Even Twisted Fate is fine with his nickname being used outside battle – though that's probably because he hates his real name."

In Quinn's opinion, the League of Legends just had too many champions. When were they going to stop recruiting? There was already too much information for new members, and she had never been good with the people thing in the first place. But that didn't mean she would stop trying to learn – especially when her future plans were non-existent and she knew she would need to prepare for almost any eventuality.

"I see," Quinn said, mentally filing the information away. "What about Miss Fortune?"

"Best drinking buddy ever... oh, you mean her nickname? Yeah, she's fine with it too. Not because she hates her real name or anything. Wait – uh – what's her real name? Does she even have one? Is it 'Fortune'? Because that would be sick."

"It's Sarah," Quinn said, feeling a little proud of herself for having the answer.

"Oh. Boring. But yeah, she goes by Miss Fortune because she loves everyone calling her 'miss', like she's some respectable, upper-class woman. Stuffs her face with pretzels and beer and laughs at the irony. That kind of person – y'know what I mean?"

"I guess."

"Anyways, don't worry about it. You probably feel embarrassed and all, but nobody is going to remember it. The stuff we remember are things like what Vayne did during her first week. I mean, talk about awkward."

"Wait – what did Vayne do?"

Vi grinned, and Quinn got the feeling she was one of the more gossipy members of the League. "Well, you know how battles on the Rift are broadcast live? Vayne somehow missed the memo. And back in the early days, the cameras were positioned closer, and sometimes caught conversations between the champions, before the battles began-"

"Vi," Caitlyn interrupted, setting a tray of steaming hot bread on the table. "Here are your freshly baked buns. Now, if you don't mind, I'll tell the story. Unembellished."

* * *

Thresh was a ghostly specter.

Twitch was a mutated rat.

Soraka, a celestial being.

And Quinn, a peasant.

She was not born to heroes, nor was she the chosen one, destined to save the world, and she didn't have a magical demon slaying sword – or crossbow – so she knew it would be pointless to believe she was meant for something more. Her childish imagination had been left in Everridge, at her brother's grave, and there was no reason to try to truly understand the position she found herself in. Instead, it was easier to attribute her success to a lifetime of honing her skills and working hard. If she had been born in Noxus, she would have been well-respected, and leading an army regiment or two. At least if she were a Noxian, she would understand people wanting to kill her.

Quinn had had an entire morning to prepare herself, so she had went shopping for new armour and weapons. Because of her nomadic lifestyle, she always found it easy to adapt to new equipment. The armour was light, and on the Summoner's Rift rules rarely matched reality, so she wasn't too concerned about its defensive capabilities and the material it was made out of. As long as her mobility wasn't impeded, Caitlyn had said, the Rift would enhance the armour to be meet a baseline for defense.

For her crossbow, it was a little more important. In reality, accuracy tended to be the most important factor, but on the Rift, she needed to be able to reload and aim quickly – everything else would be handled automagically. Browsing through the shops, she had been sorely tempted to buy a bow, but she feared she might be too rusty and she didn't have enough time to brush up on her archery skills before the match. In the end, she bought a small crossbow – as was her preference, considering how much portability usually mattered to her.

Quinn clapped her hands, the sound echoing through the plains. Her palms stung. She turned and punched the stone monolith. It hurt. She walked around the monolith to the shady spot on the grass it provided. Soraka was there, sitting with her back against the stone. She opened one eye, idly watching Quinn.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Quinn looked at her hands, and then pinched her arms. "These aren't our real bodies," she said, sitting down next to Soraka.

"No. They are not. If they were, things would become much more complicated. And even these bodies, as close to our real ones as possible, are bathed in layers upon layers of protective magic, so there is no chance our consciousness is affected in any way."

"So what about our real bodies? How exactly does this work?"

Soraka looked upwards. The sky was visible, but it was also a fabrication. "Nobody except the original High Summoners know for sure, but it is a necessary precaution, otherwise these fights would not be possible. In Zilean's case, matches would be over before they started, and Syndra would destroy the entire Fields of Justice if they did not give her a win by default."

"An entire dimension," Quinn said, looking around disbelievingly.

"Yes, she could. It might cost her a little bit of herself, but dark magic is never free, nor safe. If one ignores self imposed limitations, like she does, it can threaten the existence of an entire dimension."

"Even Runeterra itself? Could she destroy Runeterra?"

Soraka shook her head. "She tried, once or twice, I believe. Runeterra is several orders of magnitude larger and more complex than the Fields of Justice. I suspect the Void, too, would be too much for her to handle. Which is, quite honestly, a good thing, considering all the problems that would come with destroying such a place."

"Problems?"

"Its more powerful inhabitants would jump ship, and probably end up in Runeterra. The Shadow Isles are proving difficult enough already, no need to add another monster spewing region into the mix."

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud female voice which could be heard throughout the field.

_"Welcome to Summoner's Rift."_

"It begins," Soraka said, standing up.

Excitement should have been overwriting her nervousness, but it wasn't. She remembered so little of her first match – it was all a blur of magic, screams, and confusion – so it felt as if she was experiencing a battle on the Summoner's Rift for the first time. Her eagerness to kill had waned over the night, and she felt more of a desire to avoid disaster than to hunt rats, specters, and crazed werewolves for the next few hours.

* * *

When the first soldier on their side died, Quinn had ignored the oddity. Something was off, but it wasn't enough to warrant her attention. From underneath the tower, which seemed to lean over them like a god playing with his creations, Quinn's eyes roamed the battlefield.

The second minion to die, Quinn didn't – _couldn't_ – ignore. The magical automation dropped its sword and threw its arms up in the air with a dramatic flair, before collapsing in a heap on the ground and slowly fading out of existence. Before it disappeared completely, a blue light emerged from within its red cloak. It rose into the air above the automation, and then floated there, unmoving. A glowing sphere, not unlike the speck of a firefly's lights when observed from afar.

Every iota of her attention was focused on the anomaly – she knew it wasn't a part of the battle's normal setup – and in the background, she barely registered the noise of laughter. An ungodly cackle originating from her enemy, which sounded like glee – or perhaps as close as a specter could get to the emotion.

Quinn took a step back, half turning to her ally. "Soraka, what's that magical sphere the minion left behind?"

"Sphere?" Soraka said. "What do you mean?"

"The bluish one, above where it died."

A pause. "There is nothing there, Quinn."

The denial irked her – she knew Soraka wasn't lying or joking, and the lapse of communication was concerning.

"Yes there is," Quinn growled. "The second minion to die – I'm looking straight at-"

From across the field, she could see Thresh, as he stepped forward, throwing his lantern out like he was casting a fishing rod. It landed on the grass below the sphere. For a microsecond, nothing happened, and then the sphere was gone. Swept into the lantern by an invisible force.

Thresh turned his head to stare at her.

_Understanding._

He had caught his fish.

_Is that even possible? Caitlyn said. Collecting souls?_

Quinn's heart skipped a beat.

If not for the tower to lean against, she might have buckled to her knees as the realizations came crashing down on her.

_Paz village, the Institute of War, souls, dimensions. Thresh._

Pieces of the puzzle stitched themselves together in her head. Intuitively, she knew what she was seeing.

"Quinn! What is wrong?"

This wasn't the first time she had seen a sphere like the one from the minion, but it had taken her a few seconds to remember where else she'd seen them. Weeks ago, when she and Lux had fought Thresh in Paz village. In a moment of desperation, she had latched onto his lantern, and when the world seemed to pause, she had been granted a supernatural sight.

_Yet, for some reason he never elaborated on, the colour of human souls vary. They can be red, purple, white... anything._

Multicolour, floating aimlessly along the horizon, passing through each other and everything around them, as if they weren't part of the world.

_If this is true, he must have a diverse collection. Humans, Yordles, monsters and creatures alike._

There were millions of them, and they had had a complete disregard for their environment, and even for Quinn's frame of reference. They had floated close and shrunk, and they had moved further away and grew, and a few had never changed sizes at all, no matter where they were.

_If he has been collecting them since the Blessed Isles, he could have hundreds – no, thousands – by now._

They had danced with each other, traced helices in the air and figure eights and then continuous, concentric circles, like they were emulating the mating rituals of exotic birds. All the while, their speeds varied, as though in competition with each other, but sometimes they would slow down, as though dancing to some unheard of music, which started as an urgent fortissimo and then the decrescendo arrived and everything calmed down.

If she had tried to single out one of the lights, it would fade and all the others become more apparent. Hallucination, she had dismissed it as, at the time. It was as though they weren't part of the same world, and she had seen a projection from somewhere far away. From someplace else.

From another dimension.

_And I must wonder, how does he store them?_

Since her most recent run-in with the Unwilling Passengers, she had discovered what it felt like to touch a portal to another dimension, and it was the exact sensation she had experienced when she had touched Thresh's lantern in Paz. She hadn't thought of it since – because she'd been a overwhelmed by the fact that an Unwilling Passenger had somehow hunted her down – but if she knew what a portal felt like, taking into account her sensitivity of magic, and the fact that Thresh's lantern was very similar, then there was only one conclusion she could make.

Thresh's lantern acted as a portal to another dimension.

And it had just stole from the Fields of Justice.

"Focus, Quinn!"

"Soraka," she said, her voice hollow. "What, exactly, do souls look like?"

"Why do you ask? Did Twitch's poison somehow get you?"

Quinn wished. She wished she could dismiss it as an oddity, again, but she couldn't, because the alternative was too scary.

"Like an unfocused light, the diary said," Soraka finally answered. "If you were to look at a torch, from a distance, and squint your eyes – something like that."

It was the same.

It was a fact that should have been wrong – must have been wrong – but reality, her own eyes, told her otherwise.

"Minions," Quinn whispered. "Do they have souls?"

Soraka gave her an odd look. "No, of course not – it must be hallucinations Quinn. A trap, laid by Twitch?" They were under their tower, safe, and both knew it wasn't possible. "I cannot sense any souls nearby. Nor have I ever sensed any, in the Fields of Justice. It is an empty dimension – that is why the original High Summoners decided to use it."

"They're all different," Quinn said. "You said so yourself. Human, Yordle... alien. How can you be sure?"

Silence turned out to be a bad response on Soraka's part, because it let Quinn's mind continue working.

_"So – so we did defeat him?"_

_Luxanna hesitated. "In a way."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"The chain connecting his lantern snapped. Valor flew off with it and Thresh, he – well, he lost the will to fight, I guess?"_

Had she really been so foolish as to believe Thresh had a dependence on his lantern? She was supposed to be the Thresh expert, according to Caitlyn, yet she overlooked a very simple fact: if Thresh had some sort of a magical dependence on his lantern, he would hold it close and keep it safe, not use it as a wrecking ball against his opponents. His obvious lack of concern for his lantern could only mean one thing: it was meant to be used aggressively, like a weapon.

So why had Thresh given up, when Valor took his lantern? He was winning the fight, up until he surrendered. The simplest solution was because he had wanted to be captured. Facing the facts now, it seemed entirely possible, even logical, that he had willingly surrendered, to be brought to the Institute of War. If he had souls of every species on Runeterra already, it made sense he was expanding his horizons, and the minions of the Rift were his new target.

There was one thing that didn't make sense, though. Why was Quinn seeing them, and not Soraka?

Her sensitivity to magic was a possibility, but didn't seem all that likely. A better explanation was the lantern, now at Thresh's side. She stared at it for a moment, and then looked at its owner. Immediately, he returned her gaze, and then, when a breeze passed through the field, he spoke, and the wind carried his words to Quinn's ears.

"Your eyes," he said, and Quinn only saw his bone mask as a twisted, perpetual smile. "What do they see?"

* * *

The wolves.

* * *

And the golems.

* * *

The dragon, and Baron Nashor, too.

* * *

When the blue Nexus exploded, amidst the cheers of champions, Quinn dropped her crossbow. The wait for the Summoners to pull them back to Runeterra took much too long for her liking.

* * *

Quinn was back in reality – which didn't feel real at all. She examined her hands and pinched her arm, hoping she would wake up in the guest room of Piltover's headquarters. It did not happen.

Heimerdinger was in a discussion with Orianna. Lee Sin, someone almost as quiet as she was, stood next to them, listening in on the conversation. Soraka and she stood separate from the rest of the team. They weren't the only ones in the room, however. Beyond the five pedestals where they had stood during the teleportation sequence, a line of Summoners stood guard, and past them, more pedestals, and the other team. It was a symmetrical room, and the Summoners present weren't the ones involved in the teleportation process, but rather they guarded the champions against each other, in case ill will had transcended dimensions – which wasn't an uncommon scenario.

The only interruption in the line of Summoners was at the very center of the room, where Suuntaava was positioned. The anchor which made it so easy to return to Runeterra seemed much more intimidating than before, now that she knew the Fields of Justice were more sinister than they appeared. And, oddly enough, Suuntaava, as though it, too, had a soul of its own, was acting differently. Before, the golden triangular pyramid always rotated on a singular axis, one perpendicular to the floor, but it was now spinning randomly. Its axis of rotation changing, it sped up until it was a blur, and then slowed down again until it was barely moving.

A few champions seemed to notice this too, and the nearby Summoners appeared ill at ease, unsure of what to do. Within a few seconds, everyone in the room had noticed, and was staring at it, waiting for it to stabilize. It didn't, and the whispers of the Summoners grew louder.

Pink smoke exploded next to Suuntaava, and High Summoner Vessaria appeared. Already facing the pyramid, she didn't look around the room or even pause. With both hands, as though Suuntaava were a divination orb, she reached out and held her hands in place. It responded immediately, shifting its axis of rotation back to normal, and slowing its revolutions to once every couple seconds. Without any more delay, Vessaria turned and stalked out of the room. Summoners watched her in disbelief.

Quinn waited a few seconds, and then followed.

"Vessaria," she shouted, her voice echoing in the empty halls.

Vessaria didn't turn around, or even break pace, forcing Quinn to run to catch up to her.

"Thresh is collecting souls," Quinn said.

"He does," Vessaria said. "That is what he was known for, on the Shadow Isles. I had hoped you knew this already."

"The souls of minions."

"Minions have no souls."

Soraka words hadn't made her question what she'd seen, but she felt a hint of hesitation at Vessaria's dismissal. Magic could easily deceive her, so there was the possibility that it had all been a trick – but to what ends? And was Thresh even smart enough to do something so complicated? Quinn didn't know if Vessaria believed it, or was lying, but she wasn't willing to give up yet.

"On the Rift," she said, "Thresh's lantern is sucking them into another dimension."

"That's ridiculous," Vessaria said. "There are no souls on the Fields of Justice-"

"There are. I saw them with my own eyes."

" _Ridiculous_. You spent five hours with Soraka – has she not said the very same thing as me? You can't see souls," Vessaria whispered. "You would be best not telling anyone else of your delusions, lest they think you've went insane."

"He's played you. He wanted to be captured and brought to the Institute of War."

This stopped Vessaria in her tracks. "The Fields of Justice are a vital component to the Institute of War, and maintaining a semblance of peace on Runeterra. Many people would be upset if the Fields used souls in an unethical way. Repercussions would risk shutting it down, while investigations are underwent. Nobody would dare take such a chance, and I can assure you, things are not as they seem." She resumed her walk, and Quinn followed. "If you actually believe that Thresh wanted to join the League of Legends to steal souls, then tell me, why has he waited two entire weeks before participating in his first match? Souls are his obsession – if we were to dangle them in front of him like you believe, he'd have been on the Rift no less than a dozen times. Naturally, due to his nature, Thresh is a concern to us and we are watching him closely, so there is no need for you to worry about him."

"And Suuntaava? What was that about?"

"As I said – stop concerning yourself with Thresh. In fact, your own situation should be taking precedence. Every champion has baggage that they bring with them, when entering the League of Legends. That's understandable. It's nothing new, and we continuously work with our members to make sure everything remains copacetic. Usually, however, they are capable of handling their own problems. Quinn, please make an effort not to be the first champion to die. We've a spotless record so far, and I'd like to keep it that way for another couple years, at least. I've read the report on the bombing, but we're unfortunately short staffed at the moment, busy dealing with High Summoner Irvine's situation, and organizing the banquet – which is something necessary in a time of doubt, as a show of force – so we can't afford to put people on this investigation-"

"So you've subcontracted it out to Caitlyn."

"Yes, something like that. She told you?"

Quinn nodded. "I can handle my own problems, you know."

"And _only_ your own problems, please."

Vessaria nodded to her, then looked up to the ceiling. A second later, she was gone, a wisp of pink smoke taking her place.

Quinn stood still for a few minutes, trying to sort out her thoughts. Aside from what she had witnessed, there was no proof that minions had souls. Soraka and Vessaria both denied it. Thresh wasn't about to admit to his crimes, so who else was there she could go to? The Ionian fox – Ahri – was a possibility. But if she knew the truth, then why would she stay quiet on it? Did she feed off the souls of the minions, and thus wouldn't benefit by revealing the secret?

Quinn sighed. Vessaria had left her in a nondescript hall, somewhere within the Institute of War's maze-like interior. A large painting hung on the wall to her left.

Quinn had an excellent grasp on geography. The names of mountains, islands, rivers. Distances and landmarks, and flora and fauna specific to certain regions. She'd developed a wide knowledge base while travelling throughout northern Runeterra, and it was because of this that she could identify the river in the painting. It was the Liv River, located north of Piltover, which flowed down from the mountains and east into the ocean. After crossing the river, there was no civilization until deep into Freljord, where one might find a village in the snowy hills and mountains.

She examined the painting, finding the scenery soothing, after her recent discovery.

On the northern side of the river, the land was snowy. Trees were snow-capped, and the terrain was like a winter wonderland, covered in a fresh sheet of white, interrupted only where animal tracks led to the river's edge. Three Freljordian caribou had their heads dipped into the river's current. It was a mother and father surrounding their baby, as though to shield it from unseen threats. On the southern side of the river – the Piltovian side – everything was a lush green. Flowers were in bloom, reds and yellows vibrant and a little exaggerated, and furry balls of rabbit watched from a rocky outcrop as deer walked by to join the caribou at the watering hole.

The label at the bottom of the picture: _River of Life, by Chantal Kearns_.

The contrast between the two sides of the river was obvious. One was Freljord, the other, the Piltover Plains. There were no humans about, and no signs of civilization, leading Quinn to believe that the picture was inspired by the state of things centuries ago, when the ice age glaciers were still retreating to Freljord. It was a beautiful, yet solemn, painting. She didn't know how long she stood, staring at it, but it seemed to continually reward her, as she noticed new details. The birds in the top branches, the snow leopard in hiding, watching the caribou, the saplings growing in the background – evidence of a forest fire – and a singular blue flower which had made a foray into the sea of reds. She could even smell the roses.

Quinn took a step back, checking the hall around her.

Empty.

She sniffed again.

It was gone – but it _had_ been there. A distinct fragrance, sweet, yet not overly so, which had overwritten the plain, musty smell of the Institute's hallways. A trick of the painting? Some magic imbued in it, to make the image all the more realistic? She didn't dare touch the painting to check. Instead, she left, taking turns at random as she navigated through the inner halls of the building.

It hadn't been intentional, at least not at first, but she gradually made her way in the direction of the library. Orianna, as team captain, might have wanted a post match discussion with the team, but it was much too late for Quinn to backtrack, and she didn't want to talk about the match, or hear the details on what had happened, because nobody would speak of souls, and it would drive her insane to be the only one who knew the truth.

* * *

The library was warm and dry, likely under some sort of dehumidifying spell. It was quiet, and she walked the ranks of tables – archivist stations, for the most part – and looked down every aisle she passed. Empty, one after another. She suspected the second and third floors were equally as quiet. With the upcoming banquet, it seemed nobody wanted to mull over ancient texts. There wasn't even a librarian; the Institute of War was content to leave their valuable books unattended most of them time – or, at least, apparently unattended. She could imagine a variety of magic watching her every movement and protecting the leather bound books around her.

On her last visit, she had been interested in dark magic, and more information on the Institute of War, in general. This time, she had a narrower vision. She found a large book, stationed at the end of one of the first aisles, and opened it. It was a six hundred page catalogue book, which she used to find one word. 'Souls'. Discovering the subject was conveniently gathered nearby, she quickly located the books, and began reading their spines.

Souls to Targon, first edition. Ascension. Balance of Souls, fifth edition. Understanding the Void. Argale's 'Beyond Death and Before Birth', second edition. Every Animal's Soul. Origin and Destination. Souls and Sapience, a thesis by Kervin Burnham. Feast of Souls. Trapped Souls. Essence of a Soul, third edition. The Shadow Isles, by Parke Kythera.

She stopped and backtracked a few books, pulling out 'Origin and Destination' and staring at the cover. Its spine – blocky blue text – was familiar, and so was the cover. Where had she seen it before? Everridge. Her hometown. It had been one of the books on the teacher's bookshelf. She had never had a chance to read it, since the teacher was stingy about letting anyone take from her collection. Quinn might have taken it without permission, but it had been on the top shelf, out of reach, its cover facing outwards as though to prominently display itself to the poor children who'd never be able to read it.

She cracked it open, a smile forming on her face.

* * *

_Upon birth of a creature, its soul is created from nothingness. Under the guidance of the souls of its parents, the soul takes shape. It is inspired with traits and definitions which make it unique-_

Quinn scrunched up her nose, but the smell wouldn't go away. For the third time in one minute, she lowered the book and looked around. The Institute's library was empty. Nonetheless, she had a feeling someone was watching her, and she felt like a hunted deer, about to be shot and gutted. At the very least, it was a pleasant aroma.

Origin and Destination turned out to be a short, complex book, from which Quinn had only been able to retain a few facts. She didn't feel any amount of satisfaction from finally being able to read the book, and she put it back with a sigh, before choosing another book and returning to her table. It was much larger, and she suspected she might take hours to finish it.

* * *

_As Man shall not procreate with his Sister, a Soul shall not cross dimensional Boundaries. We are shackled to our Dimension of Origin, and so we shall not visit other Dimensions until our Death, wherein our Soul departs from our Mind and embarks on Its journey to Hel, which, upon arrival, joins Everything that has once existed, and becomes dormant for all of Eternity. Hel can not be visited by Mind, and Hel cannot lose what it has once gained. It is an absolute which transcends our very Concept of Existence._

Again, the scent of roses.

"Hello?" Quinn said, standing up and looking around.

Nobody answered, and she sat back down, toying with her current page, flipping it back and forth and waiting. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that the painting had sprouted legs and followed her – and that was part of what she hated about magic. There were so many possibilities and nothing could be excluded, and the rose fragrance was close to driving her insane, yet there was nothing she could do about it, so she returned to the book in hand.

_Souls of sapient Beings differ no longer in Hel, for, during a Soul's traversal to the End of All Things, it sheds of Itself everything deterministic, and becomes-_

With the rose scent at its strongest, Quinn felt a tickle on the back of her neck. Shoving her book away and kicking back her chair, she spun around with a dagger in hand.


	19. Library

Small fingers pulled away from her neck, accompanied by a yelp.

Her attacker wasn't an attacker, but rather a small girl, who flinched at the sight of Quinn's blade and brought her hands up to her face, as though blocking her own vision would hide her presence from Quinn. A few seconds passed before she peeked through a crack in her fingers.

"Don't hurt me," she whimpered.

The girl was young – no more than eight years old – and she sounded terrified, but there was something _off_ about her. Quinn was fleetingly reminded of herself, when she'd been younger. It was, Quinn assured herself, because of one very distinguishing feature – purple hair. It was a messy, short cut – like hers had always been because her father cut her hair to save money – and the tom-boyishness of it would have fit properly had the little girl been growing up on a farm.

"Sister?" the girl said, lowering her arms to meet Quinn's eyes.

Speechless, Quinn stared at the girl.

"Sister, please." The girl was visibly trembling. "Say something."

"I – you're mistaken," Quinn said, fumbling with her dagger before managing to put it away. "I'm sorry, I don't have a sister."

Immediately, the girl's eyes started to water. "But I came all this way to see you."

"All this way?" Quinn said, making an attempt to soften her voice. "What's your name? How did you get in here?"

The girl wasn't listening. She was overwhelmed by tears – an ugly and unnecessary sight – and Quinn wanted to console her, but before she could, the girl spoke again.

"Why don't you ever visit?"

It took a few long seconds to process the words before Quinn realized the implications.

_Fuck_.

A quick mental calculation did not help. She had left home six years ago, and the girl looked around that old, so it was possible – but still, a fourteen year age gap?

"You-" Quinn said. "-you're..."

No – it wasn't possible. Valor would have told her. He'd been to Everridge multiple times, to drop off money Quinn had scavenged to help run the farm. It simply wasn't possible that Valor hadn't realized – or even worse, had decided not to tell her. Adoption was another possibility, but it didn't fit with what the girl had said. No, none of the pieces fit. There was no possible way a little girl had simply walked into the Institute of War, and especially not during such a time of high security.

"No," Quinn said, eyeing the girl wearily. "Who are you? Did someone put you up to this?"

The little girl looked up with a crooked smile, contradicting the tear stained expression she'd worn a second ago, and then she transformed. She grew to twice her height, her physique morphing into that of a mature, voluptuous woman, and her hair ran through the rainbow of colours before settling on gold – not yellow, it quite literally had a metallic luster to it – but the woman's beauty was overridden by the obvious danger she posed.

Quinn pulled out her dagger again, wishing she hadn't ever been foolish enough to sheathe it in the first place.

"Who the hell are you?" she said.

The woman tutted. "This is a library, Quinn Attridge, please keep your voice down.

Quinn bristled. "Who are you?" she repeated.

But rather than answering, the woman reached forward. Quinn flipped the dagger in her hand, and attacked with the hilt. Before she could make contact with the woman's arm, however, the woman's body shimmered, vibrated, then disappeared. Quinn stared at the air where she'd been only a moment ago.

"Over here," a voice whispered directly into her ear.

Quinn froze. She could have turned and continued her offensive, but if instant teleportation magic was involved, she wouldn't be winning any battles.

"Smart girl," the woman said. "You learn quickly."

"Are you going to tell me who you are?" Quinn said, her finger stroking her blade.

_Patience_. If she was going to attack, she would need something more – a distraction, or reason for the woman to hesitate. As it stood, the ball was in the woman's court, and Quinn could only be patient. Slowly, she turned around.

"I apologize," the woman said. "Perhaps I went too far, but I wanted to judge your character for myself. My daughter easily gets carried away, and after you saved her, she wouldn't stop talking about you. Helen Crownguard, pleased to make your acquaintance."

This wasn't the first time Quinn had seen Helen Crownguard, but every other time had been from the other end of a room, when the woman was flaunting her family's status at a banquet, with a beautiful dress and enough makeup to reduce her age by decades. Up close, Quinn could see the resemblance with between her and Lux – if not in personality, then by the eyes, hair, and facial structure.

Quinn had, however, met Helen's husband, Oliver, up close. Quinn and the head of the Crownguard family had exchanged words on a few occasions, such as her promotion or when she returned from a particularly successful mission. As far as rich men from noble families went, he had seemed bearable. Now Quinn was questioning why he had marriage such a woman.

In spite of Helen's self introduction, she made no move to shake Quinn's hand. That, alone, was reason to be suspicious.

_Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice..._

"Likewise," Quinn said.

"You're quick to violence," Helen said, still regarding her carefully. "But I suppose that is expected of someone with your upbringing."

"What are you doing in Senta?" Quinn said.

"I decided it was due time to visit my daughter and-" Helen paused, half turning away to cough. "Apologies. The air in the library is so stale, it doesn't do well to my lungs. And then I heard she had been injured, visiting _you_. I had hoped you were a little more competent, considering how selflessly you acted to save her before."

"Is that so?"

"You don't buy it," Helen sneered, dropping her fake aristocratic voice. "Quit wasting our time, then."

The blonde disappeared – an illusion, dispelled. In its place stood a woman with black mascara, a lithe body, and purple lipstick. Her hair was purple – though it was darker than Quinn's and the little girl's hair – and if Quinn had been stupid enough not to be able to figure out who the woman was with that much information, the cape was a dead giveaway. The only thing missing was her staff.

Quinn exhaled, meeting LeBlanc's eyes.

"Relax, Quinn," LeBlanc said. "I would've thought you'd dispensed of all your murderous intent while on the Rift."

"I'll always have some left over, for people like you."

Her sensitivity to magic had already dulled so much that LeBlanc could sneak up on her – and it wasn't like Lux, who could be completely undetectable – and it was alarming, because the city would become much more dangerous, if she couldn't tell what magic was lurking in the back alleys.

"Is that any way to treat your long lost sister?" LeBlanc said.

"No – you're not-"

"Why not?"

Quinn grit her teeth. "You're lying."

"Cousins, then?" LeBlanc said, with a hint of faked optimism.

"No."

"But our hair colour, Quinn." She reached for a lock of her own hair and brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. "Natural purple is rare. Don't you just love it?"

LeBlanc smiled. The smile, and every other facial feature LeBlanc had shown, and her tone of voice and the way she moved when she talked – it was all intentional, and Quinn knew she shouldn't read into it, because if she did, she would find contradictions and oddities and it would only confuse her further, not to mention there was the possibility that the smile and the optimism was real, which was even more frightening, so Quinn opted for silence.

"My mother lived in Demacia, before she met my father," LeBlanc said. "I do think it would be interesting, to learn if we are related or not. Second cousins, maybe?"

"We can't be," Quinn said. "I can't even use magic."

"But you're a very good conduit. Piltover is developing a method to detect blood relations between humans. If you wanted, we could go there some time, participate in a trial and see. Does that interest you?"

"No. What do you mean by me being a conduit for magic?"

LeBlanc shook her head. "I only overheard Vessaria say it. You would need to ask her. I overhear lots of things, and they remain pieces of a puzzle, of which I don't know the size of. Until I find an adjacent piece, it has no context, and thus it is meaningless to me."

"What did you want with me?" Quinn said.

"I wanted to talk with you."

"And I think I'm fine not talking to you."

"Knowledge is dangerous. This is your second visit to the library, and your choices in reading are concerning." LeBlanc turned her back on Quinn, and stared upwards to the railing and shelves of the second floor. Quinn had all but forgotten her blade was still in hand. "You're pursuing knowledge quite aggressively, and I'm not comfortable letting it happen, especially with your most recent discovery."

"My most recent discovery?" Quinn said. "Then you know, don't you?"

"You'll have to be more specific than that, Quinn. I know lots."

"About the minions on the Rift. You want to keep it quiet, for some reason."

"And this bothers you?"

"It's _wrong_ ," Quinn said.

LeBlanc laughed. "What part of it is wrong?"

"What if some super sentient being came to Runeterra, and saw us as nothing but souls to be used for a game?"

"Souls for a game?" LeBlanc said. "Minions? I see."

Quinn blanched. "What?"

"You volunteer information so easily."

"... You didn't know."

"The monsters, too? The Baron Nashor clone? Giving him a soul of any kind would be very unwise."

Quinn clenched her teeth. "I'm not saying anymore."

"I'm joking, Quinn," LeBlanc said, stepping over to a nearby bookshelf. "I overheard your conversation with Vessaria – I already knew. This was only confirmation that I heard it correctly. And I don't want to keep it a secret. If I had proof I would go public immediately, but alas, something such as this is almost impossible to prove, and people, for some reason, aren't prone to believing what I say. I, on the other hand, believe what you've said. The original High Summoners were very cunning people."

"Then does Vessaria know?"

"She can read memories, so it shouldn't be a surprise that she's the second best liar I know, but no, I don't think she knows."

Quinn contemplated LeBlanc's words. They could very easily be lies. Everything she heard and said had to be considered carefully.

"What do you want? Why are you here?" Quinn said.

"I want to have a conversation. No tricks, no deceit-" LeBlanc snorted. "Okay, maybe some deceit, I really, honestly, can't help it – lying is, like, ninety five percent of what I do – but I'm not looking for a fight. I'll do my best to let my five percent for the day happen here, so let us talk."

"We've already talked. Isn't that enough for you, confirming what you heard?"

"If it was enough, would I still be here? No, I want to hear more. For example, I would like to know what you are doing here."

"You've been watching me read," Quinn said. The conversation was stilted, as she took her time carefully planning her words. "There's no way you don't already know the answer to that."

"No. I mean, _here_?"

"None of your business," Quinn said, remembering LeBlanc had also been in the crowd at her introduction, where someone had manipulated time – likely using Quinn as a target, because she was the only one who could remember going back five minutes. "You've been watching me longer than this, haven't you?"

"Don't be so difficult. I approach you not as a Noxian, but as an interested, independent individual. I imagine Swain wouldn't take too kindly to a meeting such as this, but I implore you, play not the part of Demacian, because doing so will be disadvantageous to both of us."

"I'm not going to tell you anything."

"Anything else, you mean?" she said with a coquettish smile.

Quinn ignored the gibe. She didn't know how to describe it, but it felt like LeBlanc kept switching personalities, and nothing she said was something Quinn could predict.

"But you do already know I'm researching souls," Quinn said. "And if you don't know anything about souls, you're of no use to me. I can talk to others. I'm willing to bet Ahri knows more than you do."

"Ahri?" LeBlanc said, pursing her lips. "I'm willing to bet she doesn't. What do you know about her? How she sucks the souls out of her enemy, through intimate contact, and consumes them to extend her own life?"

"Something like that," Quinn mumbled.

"Fiction. Untruths. Lies. I personally investigated this rumour very thoroughly, and I'm still in possession of my soul. It's not souls, which Ahri is after, but life essence, commonly found in blood and other bodily fluids of magical beings. Ahri siphons this essence out of her victim and uses it to strengthen the bond between her body and soul. My investigation did not yield any further information for my ongoing theories on souls, but it wasn't an altogether disappointing experience.

Quinn took a moment to pull herself together. LeBlanc had said she wouldn't lie, but that meant nothing. "Why should I trust you?"

"If need be, I could introduce you to her," LeBlanc said. "I could encourage her to answer any questions you have – it's one of the many benefits I have, being friends with her – but it would be a waste of time on everyone's part. If you're still not interested in conversing me, then perhaps I shall share some information with you for free. A show of goodwill. It has nothing to do with souls, but I imagine you'll find it equally as valuable."

LeBlanc raised her right hand, and Quinn flinched, but the woman took no heed of the reaction. Instead, she was focused on the space between them – the air itself. At the tip of her finger, sparks appeared, and then she began to move her finger through the air, and wherever it passed was left with a glow. Like she were holding a pen, LeBlanc began to draw an image. Quinn watched in silence, intrigued and, as always, weary.

"What's that?" Quinn said, once LeBlanc finished and the magic particles began to dissipate.

"A man."

"I can see that. Who is he? Why did you draw him?"

"He is one of those responsible for sending Lux to the hospital."

"He is?" Quinn said, before remembering who she was talking to. Her eyes flicked back to the image, but had already vanished. "How do you know that? Why should I believe you?"

"This narrative is getting boring. I'm offering you this information. If you don't want it, then fine."

"Wait." Maybe she was taking the bait, but if it was true – the man LeBlanc had just shown her was responsible for hurting Lux – then she'd regret it if she didn't follow up. "Can you put the drawing on paper? Something that will actually do me some good?"

LeBlanc didn't reveal any satisfaction as she pointed her palm outwards, towards one of the aisles of books. For a moment, she closed her eyes, and then she reopened them with an accompanying snap of her fingers. A few seconds later, a page – probably torn from a book – floated out of the aisle.

Quinn was mildly surprised when no stone golem dropped from the ceiling to attack them, or any otherwise defensive measures showed themselves. LeBlanc set the paper on the table and, with a finger, began to draw. Her choice of ink – or perhaps the only available to her – happened to be blood. Rather than appearing to be smudged by her finger, the red lines were fine, and Quinn watched as the macabre painting began to take the shape of a face – the same one LeBlanc had shown her moments before.

Before the painting could be finished, they were interrupted by a bang.

Quinn spun around just in time to see something exit the aisle from which LeBlanc had stolen the page.

Initially, Quinn thought it was the book, coming to retrieve its stolen page, but then she realized the moving blur had wings and a shell, and it was moving much too fast. With too much grace for what it actually was – a turtle – it decelerated and landed on the table next to LeBlanc, nearly crushing her finger as it covered the page. For a moment, nobody moved, and then the turtle snapped at her finger, which was still pointed towards the page, as though LeBlanc planned to continue painting despite the interruption.

"Please, Tamago?" LeBlanc said, kneeling down so she was level with the turtle resting on the table.

As if the turtle understood the request, he crawled off the paper, but it didn't seem he was satisfied yet. His listless eyes watched her as she resumed the painting.

Quinn cleared her throat, maybe wanting an explanation from LeBlanc, or for the turtle to magically start speaking in a deep, manly voice, but instead, the turtle simply turned his inky black eyes towards her. Immediately, she was reminded of the intelligence that Valor was capable of – and then she realized it would be a terrible idea to ever let the Demacian Eagle meet the turtle, and she would have to make sure he never entered the Institute's library.

LeBlanc pulled away from the painting, frowning pensively at it. "I'm not much of an artist, am I?" she said.

The painting was much like the one she'd drawn in the air, earlier, and it was enough to be able to identify the man, if she ever saw him in person. Yet Quinn was too distracted by the turtle with his wings folded at his side who was watching her with interested eyes.

"Um," Quinn said. "You two know each other?"

"Yes, Quinn," LeBlanc smiled. "Meet Tamago, the library's guardian. He's a very churlish, greedy turtle."

"He doesn't look it," Quinn said, though it was more to be polite than anything.

LeBlanc reached out and patted Tamago's shell. "They never do, do they? Tamago, this is Quinn. She's possibly a relative of mine, so be nice to her."

Tamago bobbed his head.

"Nice to meet you, Tamago," Quinn said.

LeBlanc pushed the painting over, and Quinn pocketed it, keeping one eye on the Noxian and the other on the library's guardian.

"This is my favorite place in Senta," LeBlanc said to her. "Do you know why?"

"The library? Because it has information?"

"Knowledge, and silence. Two of the greatest things in the world, both contained within a single place."

Without warning, Tamago extended his neck and nipped at her cape. LeBlanc flicked his shell in admonition. With a swish of her fingers, a pristine red rose appeared in her palm, and she offered it to the turtle. He snatched it with alarming speed and began happily munching on it. LeBlanc returned her attention to Quinn.

"Oh, and I nearly forgot," LeBlanc continued. "I _do_ have a name for this man. First name only. Kaiser."

"Kaiser," Quinn repeated. The name sounded evil, and she wondered if it was because she was biased.

"Yes. He's Demacian." LeBlanc waited a measure. "You don't react."

"I've no reason to believe any of this."

LeBlanc sighed. "Ziggs will confirm it for you. When he gives you the same name, please do remember that I'm telling the truth."

"I don't think I'd trust you, even then."

"You won't need to. Just knock on Kaiser's door, and I imagine his reaction will answer any doubts you have. Now, go ahead. Converse with me. Ask me a question."

Quinn was reminded of Karma. Did everyone in the League of Legends see themselves as information brokers? It felt like 'conversation' had taken on a new meaning, with these people. That wasn't to say that she didn't have lots of questions she wanted answers to, but she had to be careful not to taint her knowledge by letting lies through. For every question she asked, she would need to remember not to accept the corresponding answers as fact.

With that in mind, Quinn prepared herself to take full advantage of the opportunity.

"Has Noxus tried to recruit Thresh?" Quinn said.

"Yes. Multiple times."

"And he refused?"

"He snubbed us, actually," LeBlanc said, managing to sound offended. "We've been unable to even get an answer from him. It's a little infuriating. I accompanied Swain on one of the visits, and we couldn't get a single word out of him."

"Then what do you know about him helping Zaun?"

"I've looked into it, but haven't found any solid information." LeBlanc's hand reached out to pet Tamago, and if it had been anyone but her, it would've seemed like it was a completely subconscious action. "I imagine he owed Warwick, or there is some kind of deal or bond between the two of them, because Warwick was the one who made contact with him. Zaun has been surprisingly uncooperative with us recently, so I know little. It's indicative of something more. This is speculation, but I wonder if they've come across a powerful artifact and do not wish to share it with us. Power so quickly goes to the head, and the Zaunite Council is no exception. There is nothing they wouldn't do to gain an advantage over Piltover."

"What do you know about Thresh? Anything else, aside from what the Institute of War has said?"

"Questioning everything I see. Good habits. However, it seems you're the most knowledgeable about him at the moment. Have you considered paying him a visit? If you contact the Institute's council, I imagine you could set up a meeting with him. I wouldn't be surprised if he spoke to you."

"What was with my first match on the Rift?" Quinn said, changing tacks. "Why did Noxus throw it?"

"Here I am limited in what I can say. You've offended Swain, at some point in the past."

Tamago tried taking a bite out of LeBlanc's cape again, and she produced another rose from him to chew up. He was like a dog, though a little less endearing and a lot more dangerous.

Quinn refocused. Did LeBlanc know anything about Marcus Du Couteau's survival, and his plans?

"Who is your enemy?" she asked.

"Want me to list them all?" LeBlanc smirked. "I kid. I have only a single enemy, and the rest of you are inconveniences, or tools to be used-"

"Is Noxus just a tool?"

"Yes."

"And the Black Rose, too?"

LeBlanc's eyes narrowed. "You don't tread as carefully as the others, I see. You are a very unrefined individual." She said the last bit in the same voice as she used for Helen. "I should think it's my turn, but don't worry, I'll make it quick."

Quinn waited, a little restless at the possible questions she would be asked, but LeBlanc wasn't in a rush. She summoned a third rose, laid it in front of Tamago, and watched him begin to munch on it.

"Your father or your mother – which one had purple hair."

It was safe to answer. Anyone who travelled to Everridge could get the answer. "My mother."

"Did your brother have purple hair?"

Quinn sucked in her breath. LeBlanc took no notice of the tension that overtook Quinn's body. It was another question which answering wouldn't have any unintended consequences, yet Quinn was angered by the way LeBlanc had casually brought it up.

"No."

"To the best of your knowledge, are you related to anyone in the League of Legends?"

There was no apparent chain of reasoning from which these questions came from. Was LeBlanc aimlessly fishing for information, or did she know something Quinn didn't? It was probably the latter, which made answering the questions all the more dangerous. Yet in the end, Quinn couldn't see any valid reason for not cooperating.

"No."

"Well then, last question. Tell me about your back-story."

"My back-story?"

"It's so cliché that I don't think a single Noxian believes it. A commoner from a no-name village in Demacia joins the military, climbs the ranks, and catches the prince's eye? It's a facade, perhaps? Hiding your true identity. A shape shifter, a dark magic user, a goddess, or what-have-you."

"I'm not – not even you believe any of that."

"No. It was just a test. Then that wraps up my questions."

"That's it?"

"Is there a problem?"

"What was the point of those questions, then? I might have lied."

"You didn't lie. As for the point – if you liked my earlier puzzle metaphor, I was searching for a piece to connect everything. Zaun's secrecy, Thresh's appearance, souls on the Rift, some _other_ things. Is it possible they are all connected? By what pieces? Could Lissandra be the key?" LeBlanc smiled. "Something brought her out of Freljord for the first time in five centuries, and I would like to know what it is, before it becomes common knowledge."

There it was. Confirmation that Lissandra was actually the reason behind the banquet. Quinn didn't think it very important information, but LeBlanc had offered it nonetheless.

"Her beautiful ice age, no?" Quinn said.

Again, LeBlanc smiled. "If that's what you want to believe. And before I leave, Quinn, I'll answer one more question that you asked – however rhetoric it may have been. 'What if super sentient beings came to Runeterra, and saw us as nothing but souls to be used for a game?' Here is my answer: there's a hierarchy, a food chain, echelons of species, and the ones on top have every right to do whatever they please with those below them. It's survival of the fittest, Quinn. One thing Noxus does have right. If we cannot defend ourselves from a greater species, then so be it. We will face the punishment – their whims become our lives. I believe the very same goes for the souls on the Rift. While they appear to us to be inactive, maybe dormant or non-sentient, they could indeed be living their lives, communicating between each other and feeling emotions. It does not matter that we cannot sense it."

The air between them shimmered, and then LeBlanc disappeared.

Her voice continued, speaking to the library at large. "Because those we are greater than, we trample underfoot, and those who have transcended us, we can do nothing but worship."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. All caught up with the FFN version. I really wish FFN would play nice and let export/import work automatically.  
> I love feedback - especially criticism - so let me know what you think of the story. There's still lots left (maybe half done by now?), but I hope you've enjoyed it so far.


	20. Realizations

The fact that she was so very much looking forward to visiting Lux at the hospital was, as Quinn saw it, explained by the fact that Lux was a thousand times easier to converse with than LeBlanc. There would be no ambiguity in Lux's words, no need to search for deeper meaning or the truth, and Quinn could say things without putting them through so many filters.

As though Quinn were a regular at the hospital, the large woman behind the receptionist counter waved her over as soon as she entered.

“Miss Attridge,” the woman said with a gentle smile. “It's about time, or several hours late, if you don't mind me saying so.”

“What?”

“Our VIP has been asking about you every other hour.”

“VIP? Lux?”

The receptionist nodded. “She's awake, stable. Room two oh seven, now.”

  


As it turned out, she didn't need to even read the labels next to the doors, once she reached the right floor. A Summoner was standing opposite to room 207. He gave her a half-hearted nod when she approached, and then waved his hand towards the door. She heard the click of it unlocking.

The door was different though – it had a window this time. It was obviously a less secure room, and the fact that only one Summoner was on guard meant Lux must have been nearly fully recovered.

Quinn pressed her face to the window, and realized the receptionist had been wrong about one thing. Lux wasn't awake. It would have been easy to turn around and leave, but she managed to convince herself to stay, as to not look silly in front of the Summoner standing guard.

Quietly, she entered the room and closed the door behind her. Rather than turn on the light and risk waking Lux, she approached in the darkness, accidentally stubbing her toe on a chair before finding herself at Lux's bed.

It took a few minutes of standing over Lux before her eyes adjusted to the dark enough to see Lux's features. And then Quinn felt like a nutcase for watching the sleeping girl so intently, and she brought the chair, which she had earlier stubbed her toe on, closer and sat down.

When her eyes were drawn to Lux's face for the third time in a minute, she sighed. What exactly was she doing? Was she going to apologize to a sleeping Lux again, and admit that she cared about Lux's well-being? Or maybe she would recount her meeting with LeBlanc, and hope for some kind of revelation – some way to know how to move forward. Pursue Kaiser immediately? Wait and bide her time until she knew she wasn't being tricked? Forget about it, and hide from her enemies?

Quinn knew she couldn't bring the subject up with an awake Lux. If what LeBlanc had said was true, then a Demacian was responsible, and that would upset Lux, who was as loyal to Demacia as they came.

More importantly, however, Lux was even less likely than Quinn to want to hear anything LeBlanc had said. She would rather believe the Unwilling Passengers had a bomb fanatic among them than believe a Demacian had planted the bomb. For similar reasons, Quinn didn't want to embark on an explanation of what she had seen on the Rift.

She pushed the unpleasant thoughts away.

A couple years ago, when she had been in Ionia, Quinn had tried to learn how to meditate. It had been hours upon hours of frustration and failure, so she didn't know why she was so suddenly dead set on clearing her mind now, but she made an attempt. The proper posture wasn't possible in the chair, so she focused on other aspects of the skill.

Back straight, eyes closed, she listened to the sound of her breathing.The sensation of the air entering her nose, and then her lungs, and then leaving when she exhaled, and the process repeating.

_“Death is in every other cup – it's hardly mention worthy. This, on the other hand, is good – I think. It almost warrants me revisiting some of my old scripts, because if I'm reading this right..." Karma tipped the cup, so Quinn could see inside. "It's love."_

Quinn snorted aloud, any semblance of her focus gone.

Ridiculous. Why was she remembering something like that, at a time like this?

Standing up, Quinn went to the wall nearest to the door and found the light switch. She flicked it on, no longer caring if she woke Lux. It was an act of defiance – telling herself she didn't actually care. Squinting in the new light, she watched Lux. The girl didn't stir.

There were a few undeniable facts, Quinn concluded as she began to pace the room.

One, Lux was beautiful. It was an objective statement – the girl was desired by nearly every man in Demacia – and so it wasn't awkward to say.

Two, Quinn enjoyed Lux's company. It was a simple, innocent truth, she told herself. She had enjoyed their dinners together, and regretted all the times she'd hurt Lux – indirectly and directly – and she looked forward to hearing Lux's voice. They were friends.

Three, Lux was nobility. A Crownguard, and one of Demacia's most powerful mages. Magic users were powerful, selfish people, and they were dangerous. Quinn wasn't about to forget what Akali had said. Lux had done something in Ionia, and the Demacian army had covered it up, butsome enmity still existed between Ionia and Lux.

Four – and she could lie to herself all she wanted, but it didn't matter – she liked Lux. There was a large difference between like and love, though, and she took solace in the fact, because otherwise, she would have had a major problem.

Despite her solitary life, Quinn had never been convinced she would spent it all without a partner. It was easy, during the quieter times, to believe she would alone forever, but she always reminded herself there were decades of her life left – infinite, if she played her cards right – and she would eventually find someone to spend them with.

Nor was the problem that she was attracted to someone of the same gender.

The problem was _who_ she was attracted to. Not because Lux was a mage, nor because she was a noble from a family that hated Quinn – though those were problems too – but because Lux had shown her kindness. Lux had been the one to offer her company, and offer her friendship. What kind of person was Quinn, if all it took were those simple things, to want more? They were supposed to be friends.

Lux was the first person to give her genuine attention, and now Quinn was falling for her? It was shallow, pathetic and desperate. It was a person Quinn didn't want to be.

So she needed to leave. The banquet tomorrow would be a minor inconvenience, but there she would be able to collect information on the Unwilling Passengers, assuming Irelia or Janna made an appearance. Hearing from Karma would be a good idea, too, since Karma had promised Quinn an explanation of the supposed prophecy.

Done setting her thoughts in order, Quinn stopped pacing the room, and made a beeline for the door.

“Wait.”

Quinn stopped and turned around. Lux was sitting up, staring at her with furrowed brows.

“You're awake,” Quinn said, stepping away from the door.

“You were going to leave,” Lux said.

She sounded annoyed, and it occurred to Quinn that she had somehow already made a misstep.

“You were sleeping. I didn't want to disturb you,” Quinn said.

“You were supposed to wake me.”

“I didn't know.”

Lux adjusted her pillow, sitting up in her bed.

Quinn inhaled deeply. It had felt like so long since they had last spoken. “I'm sorry,” she said. “This was all my fault.”

“Quinn, please don't feel bad about what happened,” Lux said. “Unless you placed the bomb there yourself, it's not your fault, so there's no need to apologize.”

And there it was. No hesitation, nor any hint of a lie. No anger, which would have been present if Lux was a normal person, and no hint of any other negative emotion.

After meeting fake-Helen, courtesy of LeBlanc, Quinn had begun having second guesses about her estimation of Lux, but she was just as quickly proven wrong. It might have been petty of Quinn, but she couldn't help but think less of Lux, as though the girl was supposed to defy her expectations and force Quinn to acknowledge what had happened, and how she'd played a part in it.

Lux smiled. “Just look at it this way: I saved you, so now you owe me. Did you visit me every day and bring me flowers, and weep at my bedside?”

“It’s only been a day.”

“And I don't see any flowers,” Lux said, sulking. But just as quickly, she returned to her bright self. “Sit down. I'm glad you're here. You know, I had this silly thought that you might runaway, disappear without even saying goodbye, like you did to me in Demacia.”

Quinn forced a smile. “That was an exception.”

“Good, good,” Lux said, reaching for a pile of envelopes on her bedside table. On the topmost one, 'Ezreal' was written. Lux flipped past it though, scanning the rest of the letters.

“Is Ezreal your boyfriend?” Quinn said. Maybe she needed to treat Lux like LeBlanc, so she would actually think before she spoke.

“Why do you ask?”

“I – uh – I've heard rumours before, but you haven't opened his letter yet. And besides, you asked about my relationship with Prince Jarvan, so I guess I was curious?”

“We've went on dates before,” Lux said offhandedly.

“You have?”

“Yes.”

“And? You're still dating him, then?”

“What's it to you?” Lux asked, though it wasn't as much a challenge as it sounded like an innocent question.

Quinn hesitated. “We're friends, right? I've got to know what's going on so I can go beat him up if he ever wrongs you.”

Lux gave her a big smile. “That's a nice sentiment, but no, we aren't really dating anymore. I don't think he's given up on me, though.”

_Competition_. Quinn shook her head at her first, ridiculous thought. She could feel her ears burning up, but since she'd already broached the topic, there was no reason to back out quite yet.

“Why aren't you dating anymore?”

“I've never really thought about it.” Lux hummed. “We just didn't click, I guess? Maybe he's too much like me. Energetic and talkative – and he's also, I don't know, a pacifist? He never argues, and he bends so easily to the will of others. I guess that doesn't appeal to me. Congratulations, by the way. I watched it. The match, that is.”

“Thanks,” Quinn said, not really meaning it.

“Think about it, Quinn, you have a one hundred percent win rate. Just twenty two more consecutive wins and you beat Jax's record. You'd be known as Gladiator Quinn, and people would stop in the streets to call your name and ask for an autograph.”

Quinn gave her the evil eye.

“Fine, fine, I'm sorry. No more jokes. But you really showed them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Zaun. They thought they could cheat, and wipe us out before the match so we couldn't help Piltover.”

Quinn sighed. “Is that really what you think?”

“Of course. But you stuck with it and taught them a lesson.”

If it hadn't been Quinn's house, where Lux had no business being, then her interpretation of the events might have been believable, but as it stood, Lux was avoiding the obvious truth. It had been an assassination attempt, directed at Quinn, just like what had happened in the Demacian capital.

“Alrighty, then,” Lux said, satisfied when Quinn made no rebuttal. “Are you ready?”

“Ready? Ready for what?”

“Singed, Warwick, Viktor, or one of Zaun's ambassadors or council members. We're going to figure this out. Whoever blew up your house and tried to kill you will be brought to justice.”

“Who nearly killed you,” Quinn added, her patience running out. “And what exactly do you mean 'brought to justice'? I'm going to kill them, end of story. Let's not play any games. They were targeting me. There was no reason for you to be at my house. This is my problem, so I'll hunt down whoever it is and kill them.”

“That's not right!” Lux said. “You can't play jury, judge, and – and executioner!”

“Judge, jury, and executioner?”

“Yes, that!”

“I won't,” Quinn said. “Not the first two roles, at least. There's nothing to judge.”

“Saying there's nothing to judge is no different from making a guilty judgement. You can't do that. I won't let you.”

“Sometimes it's easy to tell who deserves to die. Trying to kill me? Hurting you? Yes, I'm going to kill him.”

“It's never easy!” Lux shouted.

The outburst startled Quinn a little, but she just shook her head. “We disagree on that, then. Let's forget about it. Besides, I don't think I need to worry about the attack right now.”

“We,” Lux corrected, pulling the sheets up on her bed to cover more of her body. “And why not?”

“Because Ziggs is working on the case.” It was true, but she was hardly waiting on Ziggs. LeBlanc's information was the real problem. “Until he comes up with something, there are no solid leads. So, let's wait.”

“Where were you before you moved into your house?” Lux said, apparently pretending Quinn hadn't said anything. At least she had silently accepted that it probably wasn't a Zaunite plot.

“I spent a few nights in the forest, and a few in town, at an inn.”

“Hmm. If a bomb was their chosen tool, then they could have attacked you while you were at the inn.”

“They would have been seen.”

“Lots of people pass through inns. They wouldn't be remembered. I'm more inclined to think they didn't want to hurt others. If a bomb was detonated in an inn, lots of innocent people would have been killed. And the fact that they didn't challenge you in the forest meant they know at least a little bit about you, and weren't willing to take that fight. Speaking of places to sleep, where did you sleep last night?”

Out of the corner of Quinn's eye, she noticed movement at the door. The man they had been speaking about only moments before, Ezreal, had his face pressed to the glass. He disappeared a second later, presumably not wanting to interrupt them. It shouldn't have been surprising Lux had another visitor – she'd probably have more, if Garen and the prince hadn’t returned to Demacia.

“Piltover headquarters,” Quinn said, a little distracted. “Caitlyn wouldn't have it any other way.”

Lux didn't seem to have noticed the intrusion. She was staring down at the sheets draped over her, fiddling with her fingers.

“I guess you won't be staying there again, tonight,” Lux said. “If you wanted, you could, you know, stay at my place.”

The offer surprised Quinn. Lux's place hadn't registered to her as an actual house, but rather a cottage from some fantasy world where the flowers grew in abundance and the deers fed on the grass in the front lawn, next to a well with a miniature roof. Actually sleeping there would force Quinn to recognize it as a part of reality, and destroy her fantastical image of the place. Besides, it would be weird sleeping in Lux's house when Lux wasn't even present – though possibly weirder when she was.

“Thanks for the offer,” Quinn said slowly. “But I already have a room at the Institute of War.”

That wasn't a lie. Gerrit had caught her on the way from the library. It was under Vessaria's orders that he make the offer, and Quinn had debated saying no, but ultimately decided it didn't matter. If anything, it would save her the cost of renting a room at an inn.

“Oh. Okay,” Lux said. “I just thought I should offer.”

Peripherally aware of Ezreal waiting outside the door, Quinn quickly searched for another topic. “I wasn't really thinking about it, but what kind of banquet is it supposed to be?”

“Freljordian-”

“That's not what I mean. Is it – uh – formal? Do I have to dress nicely?”

Lux laughed, covering her mouth with a hand when Quinn's eyes narrowed. “Sorry, sorry. I just can't imagine the Institute convincing us to dress as they want. No matter how strong they are, when it comes to us, they do like to choose their fights. Getting Gragas to wear a suit? No – not happening. Definitely not happening. Making Kayle forgo her armour for a long, silky dress? I'd like to see that, but nope. They're even slack on the weapons – though I think that's because banning them would create too much of an imbalance, since some of us don't need sharp objects to kill people.”

“Oh,” Quinn said. “That's good, I guess. Since we already committed ourselves to going, I was a little apprehensive.”

“Well, I'm glad you brought it up. Let's meet me at my place tomorrow at five. The banquet starts at six, but I want to get there early, so I still have time to drop by the Demacian table and say hi.”

So much for getting there on her own time. If they were meeting beforehand and going together, it sounded an awfully lot like a date, but Lux obviously didn't see it that way, and thinking so childishly would only embarrass herself.

Though on the same train of thought, how common was it for two friends to go to a restaurant for a fancy dinner? Because it seemed like they had done that quite a bit, recently, and Lux was supposed to be a relatively famous Demacian, who should have been occupied with important social and political meetings.

“Sounds good,” Quinn said, still distracted by her thoughts.

“Thanks for dropping by, Quinn. I'm tired now, so I'll rest up for tomorrow. Hopefully they won't try to hold me any longer.”

“Okay. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Lux nodded before laying back down and adjusting her sheets up to her neck.

Quinn didn't dally. Switching the lights off, she stepped out of the room and ran immediately into Ezreal – whom she'd forgotten about.

“Oh – uh – Quinn,” Ezreal said. “Hi. Hello. You were visiting? How is she?”

“Lux is fine. Tired, though.”

“Well, I won't be long,” he said, moving towards the door.

Quinn blocked his path. “She's resting now.”

“Oh. Huh.” He scratched his head, backing off. “Right. Another time, I guess.”

They ended up leaving the hospital together, in a silence that Quinn really didn't want to admit was awkward – because she loved silence – but it was, and all the while she was telling herself that she was acting in Lux's best interests, and it wasn't jealousy or anything of the sort that made her deny Ezreal's visit.

  


Quinn couldn't sleep. She was in a nicer room than the last time she'd spent the night at the Institute, but it made no difference. Sleeping on the floor wouldn't have helped either. The fact of the matter was, she was always restless before social gatherings. Banquets in Demacia demanded elegance from all women present, and that was something Quinn always lacked. Tradition, grace, tact.

A League banquet would be no better.

It could, with a little reflection, be much worse. They wouldn't be sitting at the Demacian table, so if she embarrassed herself, it would be in front of Ionians, and whoever else Karma had invited. Her knowledge of Ionian culture wasn't enough that she couldn't be sure she wouldn't make some faux-pas or another. Just because she'd done passably well when she'd visited Karma for tea didn't mean she was prepared for a banquet.

She rolled off the bed and onto her feet. Sleep wasn't going to come, so she'd need to exercise her legs for a bit and then try again later.

The corridors were quiet. Main hallways had torches lighting the way, but once she wandered off into the smaller, side corridors, the lights only flickered on when she approached them. In a way, it was like they were lighting the path ahead of her, leading her somewhere unknown. Nobody else wandered the corridors, and it seemed the further she went, the fewer doors there were.

Ultimately, she ended up somewhere familiar. The portrait of the Liv River, separating snow and flowers. There was no rose scent. LeBlanc had been the source of the smell, but this time there was no one stalking her.

Without a watch, Quinn didn't know how much time had passed before she was interrupted. Footsteps, from one end of the hall. She turned to watch. A woman was approaching, but she looked alien. Gliding across the floor – not hovering, like Janna could, but literally sliding as though the ground were ice – her skin was pale blue and her eyes unmoving, as though she were simply a statue on wheels. Her neck was long and thin, and her fingers were more like blades, completely unwieldy at first glance, and dangerous at second.

Unfamiliar, yet an obviously powerful being. It was Lissandra, undoubtedly. Torches on the wall flickered, trying to light her path as she approached, but most failed, and only a few lit small flames. It was just barely enough to see the woman.

Quinn stood off to the side, next to the painting, and for a moment she thought she wasn't even seen. Lissandra didn't turn her head as she moved past, freezing the air around them. Her eyes were focused ahead, on some unknown destination.

“Child,” Lissandra said, without inflection.

And then she was past Quinn. Her hair, like blades of frozen grass, was the last thing Quinn saw, as the woman rounded the corner and disappeared. For the next few minutes, the air was still cold and her breaths foggy. Eventually, the goosebumps left her arms and she rubbed her fingers together, appreciating the heat's return.

Was it supposed to be an insult? Was it even directed at her? Quinn didn't know. With one last glance towards the _River of Life_ , Quinn returned to her room.

That night, she had a new twist on an old nightmare. Quinn dreamt of mommy Lissandra and big sister LeBlanc congratulating her, when she brought her brother's corpse back. The father was missing, but she could extrapolate. It would've been Thresh, if her dream had went on any longer.

  


Not for the first time, Quinn considered disappearing. Karma would be offended – Lux, too – but then it would be impossible for her to do anything else wrong, which might be better in the long run. They were idle thoughts, though, because her feet were already walking along the roads to Demacia Avenue. The banquet would begin in just over an hour.

Her walk to Lux's house wasn't, however, without interruption.

She heard a mechanical whirr, and stopped, looking around the streets. It was a familiar sound, though one she hadn't heard in awhile. She looked around at the houses. Most had their blinds closed, but it was between the buildings she cared about. It didn't take long before the man peeked out again, and when he saw her looking at him, he disappeared again in a flash.

Making sure nobody was around watching, Quinn pursued. She caught him easily enough, in an alley between two Demacian houses. It had been impossible for the man to make it far, because of the bulky thing he was carrying. He was thin and wore a bowler hat and suit, as though looking professional could excuse his actions. His eyes were wide, bulging things that made Quinn feel like the villain.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

He fidgeted, passing his camera from hand to hand. “I – uh – I was – I work for the Senta Herald.”

“The what now?”

“The newspaper,” he said, forgetting to be terrified. “Come on now, everyone knows the Senta Herald – it's shipped as far as Bandle City.”

Quinn noticed his gaze, and she had the violent urge to destroy his camera. “No taking pictures of me.”

“I can take pictures of whomever I please.”

It seemed like it took him an entire five seconds to realize Quinn wasn't the kind of person who would kill someone who annoyed her, and now he was showing his true colours. Immediately, Quinn took a disliking to him, and she funneled her nervousness spawned by the banquet into anger.

“You can't if you drop your camera,” she said.

“I'm not going to drop it,” he said, though he recoiled mid-speech as he realized the implication. Protective hands hugged the camera to his chest “You – you can't.”

“What's your name?” Quinn said.

“Benjamin.”

“Well, Benjamin – eyes up here.” He was a pervert, not even trying to hide the fact, and again the urge to destroy his camera had to be fought off. “Hand the pictures over.”

“No!” He took a few steps back, but Quinn closed the gap instantly.

“The pictures or the entire thing. I don't care which, your choice. You have three seconds.”

She didn't need to start counting. He relented almost as soon as he heard his time limit. Quinn didn't know the going price of the camera, but it must have been a lot. A few years ago, cameras didn't even exist that could take a picture and then instantly develop it and print it out.

“This is unacceptable,” he said as he was handing over a stack of pictures, the topmost of which featured Lux entering her house, completely unaware she was being watched. “I have the right to take pictures – it's my job.”

“That's too bad, because if I see you doing your job again today, you'll drop your camera.” She pocketed the pictures, planning to rip them up and toss them in the first garbage can she came across. “Now scram.”

He moved, still hugging his camera closely. Quinn waited a minute, and then exited the alley.

Even with the delay, she managed to arrive nearly five minutes early, and she was surprised to see Lux already standing on her patio. The girl didn't notice her approach, and was instead staring up at her wind chime, seemingly fascinated by it. There was no wind, so it wasn't moving or making any sounds, but still, Lux wore an aloof expression as she watched it intently. The obliviousness would have made her easy prey for the photographer, who claimed – yet didn't fully convince Quinn – that he worked for the newspaper.

Rather than immediately interrupt whatever was so intriguing to Lux, she waited.

Lux had told her there was no need to dress fancy, but she had ignored her own advice. She wore a sleeveless black dress that hugged tightly against her body, and when it occurred to Quinn that she was probably staring at Lux in much the same way Benjamin had, she cleared her throat.

“Lux,” she said, drawing the girl's attention away from the wind chime.

Lux smiled, raising her arm to wave, and Quinn's breath was temporarily stolen away.

It wasn't a date, Quinn told herself. That would be nonsense. Be calm, and casual. They were both Demacians attending a banquet held by an international organization which pursued peace throughout Runeterra. Despite this, Quinn managed to conjure up the most clichéd greeting possible.

“Were you waiting long?”

Lux giggled, making Quinn regret the words. Why was her brain so intent on embarrassing her?

“No, not at all,” Lux said. “Let's go?”

Together – though not with crossed arms or hands held, as Quinn's imagination had somehow conjured up – the two of them began walking to the Institute.

It was subtle, but Quinn kept stealing glances at the girl walking beside her. She tried to suppress her desire to stare, but failed every time. Lux’s hair, her cheek, her shoulder, her bare arm, the dress’s fabric against her hips – really, anything Quinn could see from where she walked – all kept drawing her attention, and yet with every stolen glance, she wasn't ever satisfied. Finally, her subtlety perhaps forgotten, Lux caught her staring.

“You look really nice,” Quinn blurted out. It was probably too much honesty, and she quickly looked away. If only she could be attacked by time magic again, like at her introduction, so she could redo the past five minutes and not sound so idiotic.

“Thank you,” Lux said, smiling. “But you can just say beautiful, you know?”

“I know I can,” Quinn deadpanned, trying to reclaim some of her lost dignity.

Lux mock gasped. “Are you saying I'm not?”

“You're not modest, at the very least. And I thought you said we didn't have to dress up.”

“We don't. I wanted to, and knew you wouldn't want to.”

“You tricked me, then.”

“This is fine, isn't it? Besides, it's who we are. If I don't play my part as a Crownguard, Garen will have some stern words for me.”

“Garen?” Quinn said. “Why should you care about what your brother thinks?”

“Because he thinks the same as my parents, and everyone else.”

“And what, you're afraid of upsetting your parents?”

When she noticed Lux pressing her lips together, Quinn realized she had hit the mark – a little more crudely than she had intended.

“Well, whatever,” she quickly continued. “I think you just wanted to be taller than me.”

Lux looked Quinn up and down, showing no signs of hurt or anger. “It _is_ nice to be the same height, for once.”

Suddenly, conversation seemed so difficult to create. The passing thought of commenting on the weather was quickly dismissed – nothing could be more desperate than that. Thankfully, Lux did what she usually did, and took over the conversation, describing the foods she had heard would be at the banquet. Fiora had dropped by the hospital earlier that day, and brought with her rumours that made it sound like they would be eating like kings and queens, at the banquet.

“Are you ready?” Lux said when they approached the top of the Institute's hill.

“Ready?” Quinn said. “For what?”

“The cameras. From here until the gates, we're being broadcast live to the entire city. So just look forward, smile, and keep walking.”

“Smile?”

“Look forward and keep walking, then. I'll smile, you put on your tough girl act. It'll be over in a moment. They're all swarming out here to get their shots, since they aren't allowed into the actual banquet.”

“Should've come even earlier, then.”

“They've probably been camped here for hours. Let's go.”

Lux was right. But there were more than reporters with cameras and floating orbs recording the scene. A rope blocked off the crowd of people, wherein adults and children were cheering and shouting. By coincidence, a group of champions were just in front of them and it was, by all accounts, the oddest group Quinn had ever seen.

Two Yordles – Tristana and Teemo – were waving energetically to the crowd, and walking next to them, Nidalee, a dark skinned woman from the Kumungu jungle. She was dressed in rags and furs, but had a certain rugged beauty to her. Over the noise of the crowd, Quinn couldn't hear them, but Tristana and Nidalee seemed to be involved in a fragmented conversation.

Fortunately, the trio of champions were drawing everyone's attention, and Lux and Quinn were able to walk straight past.

“Quinn!”

Quinn was sick of her name being shouted by strangers, but as she turned around, her annoyance was forgotten in an instance.

A woman was running towards her, and _not_ slowing down, and Quinn saw long white hair and startlingly sharp cyan eyes, like that seen in the water's of a pristine glacier lake, and then she was tackled and sent stumbling several steps back. Strong arms wrapped around her, and unable to understand why she was being hugged so tightly, Quinn stiffened.

The hug was comforting – perhaps because it had been so long since she'd had one, and so she didn't struggle, though she was acutely aware of the woman's breasts pressing against her chest. A few moments passed, wherein someone from the crowd wolf-whistled, and then Quinn saw Lux staring at them, open mouth, and came to her senses. She frantically disentangled herself from the woman and pushed her to arm's length.

The woman wore a white, short skirted dress, and emblazoned on the sleeves of her dress, in gold, a familiar emblem. She was smiling warmly at Quinn.

“It's been awhile,” the woman said with a ghost of a smile. She exuded confidence and seemed to be excited yet holding herself back.

“Get away from Quinn,” Lux said through clenched teeth. “That's no way to act on live television.”

“Oh – right,” the woman said, looking around, a little off-put. “It's just been so long. I'm sorry, Lux, I'm sorry, Quinn. Please forgive me.”

Along with her apology, she made a small bow. Paparazzi cameras blinded them with flashes, the trio of Nidalee,Tristana, and Teemo forgotten.

A heartbeat passed as Quinn stared blankly. A second ago, she had assumed the woman was Ashe, one of the three contenders for Queen of Freljord – but they hadn't ever met before.

“Uh – I'm sorry,” Quinn said. “I think you're mistaking me with someone else. You're... Ashe, aren't you?”

The woman nodded, though she grew a little more tense. “I'm not mistaking you with anyone else. How many purpled hair Demacians named Quinn – with a grossly misguided preference for crossbows – do you think there are?”

The jab at her choice of weapon annoyed Quinn more than she'd have expected. “We've never met before,” Quinn asserted.

“You don't remember?”

“Remember what?”

Ashe slapped her forehead and let out a nervous, humorless laugh. “I'm such a fool. All these years, and I didn't forget so I thought you wouldn't, either, but I guess it never meant anything to you.”

Quinn spared a glance towards Lux, as if expecting her to be able to clear matters up. Lux somehow had the audacity to glare at her, as though it was Quinn's fault, and Quinn realized there would be no help in that direction.

“I'm sorry,” Quinn finally said. “All these years? Can you explain?”

“Seven years ago, though I remember it quite clearly, even with everything that's happened since then. We were pretty different back then, I suppose. A lot less wary, a lot more carefree.”

Quinn tried to set her mind back seven years. Before she had met Valor. It was a period of time where she'd felt lost, having just left home and not knowing where to go. Every night had been spent in a different place, sometimes in the forest, sometimes in a farmer's barn, and occasionally, when it was warmer, a field where she could watch the stars in the night sky.

Her memory of those times wasn't perfect. She could remember being chased out of inns and taverns, stealing carrots from the frosty dirt, and hiding in alleys as pursuers stalked past, but she would be hard pressed to say exactly when these events happened, or put the memories in any sort of chronological order. If she had supposedly met Ashe around that time, then it would have been somewhere in the north...

_The Nadir Coin._

The events came rushing back to her, and the memory of a young girl, exotic looking and proud with an almost annoying sense of humor – yet dependable when things turned serious – came back to her.

“Ashe,” she said, testing the name on her tongue.

“You remember?”

“I'd forgotten your name,” Quinn admitted. Staring at Ashe now, she couldn't believe the girl from her memories and the woman standing in front of her were one and the same.

“But you remember?” Ashe said, smiling.

It was with mixed feelings that Quinn responded. “Yeah. I remember.”

 

* * *

 

**A/N:** Insight chapter next. Yuri recommendation: Guiding Light, a League fanfiction, which, in all honesty, I expect 99% of my readers have already read (I know I have, 3 times).


	21. Insight: Nadir Coin Part I

The howling wind mocked her. It was relentless, slamming into her and hindering her movement like an excited puppy. The snow surrounded her, trying to encase her in an icy prison, and each step was harder than the last, as though her very muscles were freezing. The Freljordian mountains were treacherous, and though she'd seen the storm before it had arrived, five minutes was not enough time to escape its path, or even to find shelter – not when the landscape was a white, rolling blanket.

Her next step sank into the snow deeper than she'd been prepared for, and a swear escaped her chapped lips as she stumbled forward. Just when she thought she'd found a safer path, she’d been proven wrong. She crawled forward on her hands and knees for awhile, until the cold seeped through her clothing. It was then that she collapsed, and it was another few minutes before she laughed.

She couldn't die. That would be silly. So soon, after Caleb's death, when there was still so much to do? No, she had already decided death was unacceptable, and she would fight it every step of the way. Ultimately, it would all be pointless if she eventually died, so she would need to win – to defeat death, or Death, if he existed – for her life to have any meaning.

This was only a minor setback.

Determination brought her back to her feet. Her eyes scanned the vicinity. It was nothing but a featureless, white canvas. Where had she been going before the storm swept everything away? In what direction was north, and the South which she so desperately desired?

She picked a direction, and continued on.

 

The cold of the snow soaked through her gloves, and her wet fingers brought her back to reality, where it took a moment to process the howling noise and realize the wind hadn't relented. She was laying down, in a trench of snow which might have been a glacier river during another season. Dragging herself out of the trench was more of a struggle than she expected, as the blizzard blinded and disoriented her, causing her to fall back into the pit several times.

Finally, out of the trench, she reoriented the world and shook off a layer of snow that had accumulated on her clothing. The storm wouldn't last forever, but she wouldn't either. Looking around, she couldn't tell where she'd come from, and certainly didn't know where she was going, but it didn't take much deliberation before deciding to follow the trench, to see where it might lead.

 

Quinn fought against the snow, kicking one foot forward after another. Toes frozen, fingers frozen, probably eyelashes and hair, too. The only way to tell how long had passed since the last time she'd fallen was by the accumulated snow on her hood, which she shook off whenever the thought occurred to her, and even then it was hard to tell because the snow joined the rest of the blizzard to fall onto the endless white beneath her feet.

Against all odds, someone called her name.

She spun around, but could only see a couple meters forward. White flakes whipped her face, and she pulled her hood tighter. Bringing a hand up to her forehead, as though to block the sun's rays, she gazed out, against the whiteness. It was a feeble gesture. She should start backtracking, to find whomever was calling her. A chance at being saved. Yet before she could begin to retrace her steps in the snow, her mind forced reality back onto her. There couldn't be anyone else on these mountains – and most definitely not someone who knew her name.

She was alone.

 

Quinn opened her eyes. Some time had passed, but the howling wind still called her name.

She was curled up in a ball, her head burrowed as deep as possible into the snow and away from the weather. When she tried standing up and found it difficult, she told herself that her limbs were stiff. They weren't frozen – that simply wasn't possible. Demacian weather would never get that cold.

And where was she? Behind the school?

She was supposed to go home. It was impossible to tell what time it was, but it was probably late. Her family would be waiting for her, around the dinner table. Caleb didn't like postponing supper. Especially on pasta night. She would need to stand up and start the long trek home, so she could apologize and they could all sit down together and eat. That was what Quinn had to do.

Pushing herself to her knees, she caught sight of her hands. She was wearing gloves, and her hands were shaking, as though she had a nervous twitch. Why? Quinn began to pull off her gloves, struggling with a faltering grip.

Two more hands appeared in her sight, stopping her from removing her gloves. She only had two hands, as far as she knew, so they certainly couldn't have been hers. Bracing herself, she looked up. An unfamiliar face stared down at her. Someone new to Everridge? It was a young woman who clasped Quinn's hands in her own. She spoke gentle words, but it wasn't in a language Quinn knew. For a moment, she thought the girl was bald, but then her eyes recognized the girl's hair against the snowy backdrop. Long, white strands, buffeted by the wind.

Quinn couldn't understand what she saw, or why she was seeing it, and she began to wonder if maybe she wasn't somewhere near Everridge, and things weren't all fine after all, and that she should put forth some effort to fix her situation. With surprising strength, the woman pulled Quinn to her feet, but by then it was too late. Quinn couldn't muster the energy, and she stumbled and fell forward to embrace the pure white scenery.

 

Waking up was usually an unpleasant process. She would be sore, from the ground she slept on, and cold from the lack of blankets, and her stomach would immediately start to grumble, wanting something more than meat and vegetables scavenged from the lands. But this time it was different. She felt a giant weight on her chest, as though buried by an avalanche. Her arms were at her side and she struggled for a moment to bring them up to her head. It wasn't snow she was buried by, but rather fabric. Soft cotton. Blankets. _Warmth_. With this realization, she calmed a little.

She could hear something – and it wasn't the Freljordian winds. Instead, it was the warm sound of a crackling fire. A fire that was weak, though – she could tell just by listening that it was struggling to stay lit, starving for more fuel.

Quinn was alive, though, for all her foolishness. And she had dreamt of Everridge, and of her family, for the first time in months. That had been an unnecessary dream, and she forced her eyes open again, unwilling to fall back into it.

She saw wood. Horizontal, and stacked high. She rolled over. There was a log ceiling, log walls, and a log floor.

“Cabin?” Quinn mumbled to herself.

“You're awake?” a voice said. “Good. I was worried.”

Quinn pushed herself into a sitting position, shrugging aside the mountain of blankets that covered her body. She stared at the only other occupant in the small room. It took a moment to extract reality from dream before she recognized the girl as the one who had found her, after being caught in the blizzard. She had come so close to death, only to meet a beautiful stranger on a mountain which no one should have been near.

The girl had snow white hair, and though it was Quinn that had been the one to nearly freeze to death, the girl's lips were startlingly pale as they curved upwards into a cautious smile. Wrapped around her body, a white blanket like one of the ones that had been piled on Quinn.

She’d been saved by a ghost?

The ghost diverted her eyes, making Quinn realize that she, too, should have had a blanket wrapped around her. She was naked. Quinn flung herself behind the pile of blankets on her bed. Quickly picking one out – a pale blue one with a snowflake pattern – she wrapped it around her body and sat up again.

“Wha – what am I doing here?” Quinn said. Her throat was parched, and speaking was hard.

“You don't remember?” the ghost-like girl said. “That blizzard came in faster than water freezes.”

“The blizzard?” Quinn said. “I – I remember. Then, you saved me? Brought me here?”

“Pretty much. We're probably the only two people on the mountain.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” the girl said before pulling the blanket tighter around her body. “My name is Ashe, by the way.”

“I'm Quinn.”

She looked around the cabin. It was small. One room, no bathroom or kitchen. The fireplace, as she'd heard when she first woke up, was dying. Aside from the bed that Quinn was sitting on, there were two giant chunks of logs, meant to act as chairs, and a couple cupboards mounted on the wall. A very practical shelter. After analyzing the room, she turned her attention back to Ashe, who began poking at the dying fire with a stick.

“Well, Quinn, our clothes are nearly dry.”

Quinn looked at the ground next to the fire, seeing her jacket, pants, and wool socks for the first time. Her crossbow and dagger were propped up against a wall nearby, too.

“What-” Both girls started talking at once, before quickly breaking off.

“You first,” Quinn quickly said.

Ashe smiled. “What were you doing out on the mountain?”

“Being stupid,” Quinn admitted. “I was looking for something.”

“Something? Something you lost? Were you alone?”

“No and yes.”

“That _is_ pretty stupid. I seriously thought you wouldn't make it,” Ashe said. “You were practically frozen. How are your limbs?”

Quinn wiggled her toes experimentally, then counted off her fingers. “They're all fine.”

“Impressive,” Ashe said. “Not even frostnip. I guess – wait... you – are you?”

She was motioning to Quinn's hair, and Quinn quickly ran a finger through it. It was dry, but she wasn't sure how long had passed since she'd been dragged into the cabin.

“Am I what?” Quinn said suspiciously.

“Purple hair,” Ashe whispered. “Are you a descendant of the Himiko tribe?”

Quinn frowned and shook her head. “Never even heard of 'em.”

“Oh,” Ashe said, her voice returning to normal volume. “Boring. Though I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. If you were, you'd have sent that storm scurrying.” She knelt down and touched the nearest piece of clothing with the back of her hand. “I'm afraid this is as dry as we're going to get. Unless we want to burn down the cabin, we're out of wood. Are you cold?”

Quinn shook her head.

“Thirsty?”

“A little,” she said. It was an understatement. Her throat was so dry she thought it more likely she would die of dehydration than exposure to the elements.

Ashe stood up, letting the blanket wrapped around her fall off. She, too, only wore her undergarments. Had she not been prepared for the mountain either? It seemed like they were in the same boat. Ashe retrieved a bowl next to the fire and brought it over.

She handed it to Quinn, who nearly spilled it.

“Tell me how it tastes,” Ashe said as she began to dress. Quinn brought the unwieldy bowl to her lips. “Bison urine has important nutrients. You ever try it before?”

Mid sip, Quinn choked on the lukewarm liquid, spilling some down her chin and onto her blanket.

Ashe burst out laughing. “I kid, I kid!”

“What kind of joke is that?” Quinn said, giving her the evil eye but quickly returning to the bowl. It was water, as far as she could tell, and even if had been urine - well - she was pretty thirsty.

“Sorry,” Ashe said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “I've had a pretty monotonous past few days. But man, are you one lucky girl. Me finding you out there, I can't even begin to guess at the odds.” She put the fire poker aside, giving up on the embers and ashes. “So – can I ask – how old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

Lifting her head high and bringing a fist to her chest, Ashe grinned. “Aha. I'm three years your senior.”

“Aha,” Quinn responded in kind after a moment's thought. “You're going to die three years before me.”

Ashe laughed. “I'm pretty sure it doesn't work like that. It would be pretty boring if it did.”

Quinn cracked a smile. “Boring isn't always bad,” she said.

“Let me get your story straight. You're thirteen years old, wandering the Freljordian mountains alone, obviously a foreigner-”

“How do you know I'm a foreigner?” Quinn said.

“It's obvious,” Ashe said in a condescending tone. “You said it yourself – you've never even heard of the Himiko tribe. Every Freljordian has. And you don't look like someone who's grown up in the North. Now – thanks a lot – I forget what I was saying.”

“My story isn't important,” Quinn insisted.

“Right. Your story. Thirteen, foreigner, in Freljord alone – during the worst season – and looking for _something_?”

“It's stupid,” Quinn said, moving to the edge of her bed and setting the empty bowl on the ground. “I heard some rumours. A magical artifact that was supposedly detected somewhere around here. Thought I could find it and sell it, make some money.”

“And what do you need money for?”

“I don't know,” Quinn said sarcastically. “Maybe to live?”

“You don't need money to live. I don't have money, and I'm doing just fine. I can hunt for my food and have all the water I ever need around me.”

A modest life, Quinn observed. “I'd rather a diet beyond meat and wild plants. And bolts don't last forever – I need money to buy new ones whenever I go into town.”

Ashe moved to the door and picked up a short bow which was leaning against it. “That's why you use this,” she said, lifting it up. “You can fashion your own arrows, and maintenance is super easy. The bow is far superior to the crossbow.”

Something about the way she spoke bothered Quinn. “Bows are for the weak. You need to be strong to use a crossbow.”

Ashe eyes narrowed as she flexed her bow. “Crossbows are loud. You'll alert your target before the bolt even hits.”

“Bows-” Quinn hesitated. In truth, the only reason she used a crossbow was because that's what she had on hand. She had more experience with bows, but it was always crossbows that were available to her. “Bows suck.”

Ashe set her bow aside, apparently satisfied. “Maybe – or maybe you're just too set in your ways. You should give a bow a try, I bet you'd like it. But besides that, aren't you a little young to be providing for yourself?”

It seemed like Ashe would be bringing up the age card a lot.

“I moved out already.”

“You're from Noxus?” Ashe asked, after a pause.

“Demacia.”

“Oh. The other kingdoms really are different. There's no way someone could survive on their own out here.”

 

Quinn followed Ashe, stepping outside of the cabin. A small cry of disbelief escaped her lips.

“I thought we were in a village,” she said, turning in a full circle to see her surroundings.

“Nope, sorry. Like I said, the only two people on the mountain.”

“Then where in the world are we?”

“I'm actually not too sure,” Ashe admitted with a carefree shrug of her shoulders. “Somewhere three days hike from my tribe, and hopefully only another day to our neighbours.”

“That's pretty vague,” Quinn complained. “You never said – what exactly are you doing out here? You don't live here, do you?”

Ashe grimaced. “Ugh. No way. We're still pretty high up in the mountains – only the most hardcore of Freljordians would be able to survive long up here. I'm here on my trial.”

“Trial?”

“Wow,” Ashe said with a laugh. “You really don't know anything about Freljord, and yet you still came up here. You're crazy.”

“Help me be less crazy, then.”

“The trial is an Avarosan tradition,” Ashe said. “It's optional, but you can only begin it on your sixteenth birthday – mine was three days ago. You leave the village, and you have ten days to return with a noteworthy achievement.”

“Noteworthy achievement? I don't get it.”

“It's a way of showing your value to the tribe. It can be something like defeating a dangerous monster, retrieving a magical artifact, making trade deals, or improving relations between tribes – most girls who do the trial find themselves a husband. You know what they say: money, magic, and marriage make the world go 'round.”

“Then – then you're going to get married?”

Ashe looked away. “I hope not. That's as a last resort. I'm going to try my luck with our neighbours, see if we can't reopen a line of communication. A couple years back some trade deals went awry and since then there's been nothing but bad blood between us. We have the best weapon smiths in the region, and they have fertile farms. Everyone needs weapons and food, so it seems like a good shot.”

“I still don't get it though. Why bother with this trial in the first place, if it's optional?”

“Right – I forgot to say the most important part,” Ashe said, stepping away from the cabin and breaking into the fresh two foot high snow. “Only those who successfully complete the trial are viable candidates to succeed the chieftain. I'm here so that one day I can become chief.”

“Chief, huh?” Quinn echoed.

“Listen, you should head home – or at least, back to Demacia. Return south.”

“I'm not ready to go back yet,” Quinn said. “I'm not going to give up.”

“You would think the snowstorm knocked some sense into you.”

Quinn nodded. “It did. Freljord showed me the worst it had, and I'm still alive.”

“You're suicidal.”

“I'm anything but.”

“Fine. You're determined, I'll give you that. I don't know where you're going, or how you know where you're going, but if you want to, you can stick with me for a bit.”

 

Freljord didn't have much, especially during the heavy season, where it snowed nearly every day. Trees on the hillside were mostly buried, except for the tall ones which appeared as odd lumps growing like fungus across the vista, and they tried their best to follow animal tracks – mostly deer – but even the animals didn't do much travelling, and half the time they were slowed to a crawl as they tarnished the powdery white ground.

“Hey, hey Quinn,” Ashe said, breaking the silence again. It seemed she hated long stretches of silence. “I need you to be completely honest with me.”

“Okay,” Quinn said, a little at unease with the sudden request.

“Which side of a Freljord tern has the most feathers?”

“Which side? It needs to be balanced, to fly, so I would think neither side.”

“Nope, the outside!” Ashe said, waiting expectantly. “So? Good?”

“Terrible.”

Ashe sighed. “Okay. Do you think a variant of it could work?”

“Is that what people up here do all day?” Quinn said. “Cut wood and tell jokes?”

“The kids back home are a much easier audience.”

 

At the peak of the mountain, on the fourth day of Ashe's trial, they looked down into the valley.

Despite the cold, the paths between buildings were melted, and the permafrost was visible. The village took a roughly circular shape. On its outskirts – along its circumference – lots of small, one story houses were clumped together. Each had roofs covered by snow, and piles of chopped wood against their walls – the stockpile for rougher months. A few people were out and about, but by the chimneys of smoke each house had, it seemed like most were taking refuge inside, away from the cold.

Working in towards the center of the village, the houses grew in size, but then, inexplicably, there was an empty field at the center. It couldn't have been for children to play, or any other activity, because it was all fresh, undisturbed snow.

Quinn frowned. “What a weird village.”

“Weird? Aside from their uncanny ability to grow vegetables, I don't see anything weird about it,” Ashe said, before pointing to the outskirts of the village. “Around the outer edges are the houses, and then the bigger ones towards the middle are storage sheds, the chieftain's house, the school, and other important buildings. And then at the center is their cemetery.”

“A cemetery? At the center of the village?”

“It's like this everywhere in Freljord – even my village. We protect our ancestors, who built and bled for us. Demacia doesn't do the same, I take it?”

Quinn shook her head, shuddering at the thought. “Our cemeteries are at the outskirts of the villages, and we usually cremate the dead, anyways.”

Ashe looked offended, but she never got to respond. The village guard was already in sight, moving towards them. Telling Quinn to wait there, Ashe moved forward to meet them and begin the negotiations.

 

“I was wrong, earlier,” Ashe said, tromping up the hill. “Turns out not everyone needs weapons. The Winter's Claw haven't been seen in the region for months.”

“Then?”

“Looks like I'll be getting engaged,” Ashe said.

“You – you can't,” Quinn protested. “You're way too young. Can't you just – I don't know – fail this trial thingy?”

Despite Ashe surrendering to her fate so easily, it seemed she had some ideals she couldn't abandon, and becoming chief was a necessary step towards achieving her goals, which, she told Quinn, included unifying Freljord and turning it into a respectable, powerful kingdom.

Taking into account the return trip to her village, which would cost four days, she was almost already out of time. She also had an ego, and refused to go back into the village for accommodations for their night. They would be spending it, again, out in the cold.

Spending the night outside amounted to digging a hole large enough to sleep in. The trees in the region were taller, and there was slightly less snow than during their hike the previous day, so they were surrounded by towering, white monuments of grotesque shape.

Ashe, thankfully, had an enchanted tinderbox, which could create a fire from the frozen branches they managed to break free. After a dinner of freshly cooked meat, listening to a series of terrible jokes-in-progress, and another argument over crossbows – which Quinn only half-heartedly defended – they retired to the hole in the ground, huddling close together to preserve body heat.

 

Quinn woke, extracting herself from the Ashe, the blanket, and then the hole. It was dawn, and she could feel it in the air. Magic? An artifact? An anomaly, at the very least.

Nearby, a tree rattled, almost imperceptibly, and dumped all its snow to the ground, creating a momentary flurry. Before it even settled, Quinn was pulling a half-sleeping Ashe out of the hole.

“What's going on?” Quinn said. “Earthquake? Avalanche?”

“No – don't worry,” Ashe mumbled. “This place is safe. I wouldn't have set up here if there was a chance of us being caught in an avalanche.”

“Then-”

In synchrony, every tree nearby shook. The snow on their branches broke free and began cascading to the ground. A fine mist of snow covered the area. Their fire from last night, now charred wood, was covered in a thin layer of snow. Quinn stepped away from their hole and looked around.

For a moment, she forgot about her fear, because the snow and the trees were so beautiful – it really was a winter wonderland, as people described Freljord – but then she saw _it_. At a distance, through the mist, a large, lumbering shape.

“Ashe?” Quinn said. “What is that?”

It wasn't a tree, because trees couldn't move, but it was as tall as one, and as it got closer, she was able to see more detail. It had limbs. Feet, as wide as Quinn was tall, but with only three toes, each large enough to singlehandedly crush her. It had a massive chest and arms, covered in thick, matted fur, and if there was any question as to its intent, they watched in disbelief as the monster dig into the snow and uprooted a tree, pointing it towards them like a sword.

“Oh god,” Ashe said. “That is _not_ Willump. Run!”

Rather than ask who Willump was, Quinn decided to get her feet moving as fast as possible. She was a little disoriented, as the snowy mist was still settling, so she followed after Ashe. For every five steps she took, the _thing_ took one to close the same distance, and its one step was much faster. She couldn't be sure if she was imagining it or not, but it felt like the earth beneath the snow trembled every time the monster took a step. It quickly became apparent they wouldn't be able to outrun the thing.

Yet at the same time, through unspoken agreement, they had decided not to attack. Ashe's bow, strapped to her back, and Quinn's crossbow, which she couldn't even remember retrieving, weren't going to win them any fights. When Quinn realized she was seconds away from being grabbed and tossed around like a rag-doll before being snapped in two, she did the only thing she could to run faster, and tossed her crossbow behind her.

The monster kept chasing them, probably not even noticing the desperate action, and running through the snow only became marginally easier without awkwardly holding her crossbow and having it weigh her down. It could hardly be called running in the first place, though, as the snow slowed them to a pace where it was like a chase from her dreams, where she was being pursued but running at her fastest only made her move at a walking pace. If they didn't think of anything to escape their pursuer, the comedic chase would be rapidly brought to an end.

“It's a Yeti,” Ashe shouted, changing course. “Uphill.”

“Uphill – is – harder,” Quinn said, before deciding to save her breath.

The Yeti, as was inevitable, caught up to her a second later. She felt the first swipe, massive fingers brushing her coat and only barely avoiding knocking her down, but the next swipe, the second attempt, was delayed. Her next step, too, was delayed – and then elongated – and then it never came at all. Her foot kept descending into the snow, until she fell forward, lost her balance, and fell through. Like quicksand, she was sucked in. All around her, the snow joined her in a free fall, and in the flurry, she saw, inexplicably, a cliff wall.

Her hands moved to protect her head, though she didn't know which direction was up, or how far the fall was, or even what was at the bottom of the cliff. The first stone she hit wasn't the bottom, but a slanted piece of rock which scraped at her clothing and redirected her away, tumbling in an even more disorienting fashion. More rock continued to pummel her as the descent continued, and then a final rock – the floor – finished the job.

Her last thought was a desire not to be crushed by a falling Yeti.


	22. Insight: Nadir Coin Part II

Ashe, with a little skill and a fair amount of luck, landed feet first before falling to her hands and knees. Pain shot through her body from her legs and she grit her teeth. It took her a moment to convince herself she hadn't broken any of her limbs. Sprained, she wondered? It didn't quite amount to the pain she would have expected from a sprained leg, but she didn't know better. In either case, if she was cautious, she could move.

Looking up, it wasn't possible to tell how far she'd fallen.

The ground had swallowed them whole. It seemed they had wandered over a ravine, and the snow layer that covered it collapsed, taking them down to the bottom of the chasm. Staring up, all she could see were two stone walls, jagged and uneven and eventually angling away from her, so she couldn't see the sky above. There was, however, a marginal amount of light that reached her. Enough that she could see her surroundings and realize Quinn was nowhere to be seen.

The two had been running no more than a couple meters apart, and Ashe was sure she'd seen Quinn get caught up in the collapsing snow. Had she managed to escape falling down into the ravine? Ashe could only hope so. There were only two directions to go, and she'd been tossed and turned around too much in the fall to be able to tell which direction Quinn had been in.

After a few minutes of heavy breathing and leaning against the nearby wall, she began to move.

“Quinn?” she called out gently.

Nothing but the rumble of an ominous wind reached her. At the very least, the Yeti hadn't followed down after them. It must have leaped over the chasm and gave up on its prey. That was only a small reprieve.

She felt a modicum of responsibility for what happened to Quinn. The girl was too young to be travelling Freljord alone, no matter her goals, and she had trusted Ashe enough to follow her. If Quinn was injured – or even worse, hadn't survived the fall – then Ashe would only have herself to blame.

She shook her head vigorously, flushing out any bad thoughts.

With careful steps, as not to slip on the icy rock floor, she began to explore the cold prison.

It turned out, Quinn was just around the corner.

She was standing, which Ashe was relieved about, but the relief was very short lived. The girl's gloves were discarded on the ground, and she was throwing herself at the wall, trying to clamber up the vertical surface. She was ruthlessly grating her fingers on the rock in the process, trying to find leverage to pull herself up, and Ashe could hear her hard breathing.

“Quinn, stop it,” Ashe said, rushing over. “What are you doing?”

“We need to get out of here,” Quinn said. Her entire body was shaking. “Out – we need out. We're going to die.”

Ashe grabbed Quinn, pulling her away from the wall and into a hug. “Calm down. We're fine. We're alive. We'll get out – but not like this.”

“Gonna die, gonna die. I don't want to die, but I'm gonna die,” Quinn said.

The girl quivered in her arms, and Ashe realized it was a panic attack, or something of the sort. Claustrophobia?

“It's over. It's dark. It's cold, and lonely. I don't like it. I don't like death.”

If their current situation was causing the panic attack, then they needed out as soon as possible. Ashe grabbed Quinn's gloves, pocketing them because the task of forcing them on Quinn's shaking hands would have been too much, and pulled Quinn along.

The chasm was very narrow – if she reached her arms out, she could touch either end – and there were only two directions she could possibly go. Forward or backwards. Grasping Quinn's hand as tightly as possible, so the girl wouldn't break free and start attacking the walls again, Ashe moved forward. In minutes, they were walking in a pitch black environment, and Ashe had to hold out a hand to guide herself, so they wouldn’t walk into a wall.

Pessimistic mutterings of death followed them through the void.

 

Holding Quinn's hand, Ashe felt another relief – one which wasn't quite as easily explained. Since the moment she had met Quinn, something seemed _off_ about the girl. There had been too much bravery, too much confidence, and too much recklessness abandon in the girl, making her seem much too mature for a thirteen year old. The pitiful demeanor she now saw in Quinn – however terrible it may have been – was reassuring.

Quinn was a child, and this was the first time she was really showing it.

 

The stone walls of the cave ended, and Ashe stepped out into the bright sunlight, squinting but smiling. Quinn had run ahead of her, as soon as they saw the light, and she was now sitting on the ground, washing her face in the snow. The action indicated she was recovering, but Ashe quickly forgot about the girl as she realized what they had happened upon.

The cave had opened up into a small valley. The place was secluded from the rest of the world, with steep, unclimbable mountain slopes on either side. It was narrow, maybe fifty meters wide, and fir trees were interspersed throughout area, their lower branches showing dark green pines, unladen by snow. The trees were tall, and sheltered circles of permafrost beneath them, but even the surrounding snow wasn't very deep. Half a foot, at the most.

Cautiously, Ashe walked forward. It felt like she was the first human to ever walk the grounds, and that the place was sacred. A vale which had never been seen before, and her and Quinn would be the first to explore it. In mere seconds, her eyes alighted on the most amazing part of it all. Running lengthwise through the valley was a river with islands of snow and shallow areas, and the water was crystal clear, revealing a rocky bottom. From the waters, clouds billowed upwards. _Steam_. They had stumbled upon a genuine hot-springs river.

Suddenly, the sweat Ashe had accumulated all day made itself apparent. Her body felt sticky, underneath her winter gear, and her exhaustion made her want to drop to her knees. She approached the river, afraid it was some kind of magical illusion and would disappear if she blinked.

“No way,” Quinn whispered, now following closely behind her. “Is that what I think it is?”

The current was gentle and quiet, and snow was overhanging the edges of the river, like a glacier in the process of being melted. The steam had formed large gaps between the water's surface and the snow hanging over the edge, and Ashe half expected it to collapse as she approached, disturbing the serenity of the river's edge.

Quinn charged forward, peeling off her layers of clothing before she'd even made it to the water. She struggled with her boots, and then hopped on one foot as she pulled a sock off, alternating foot to get the other sock off. Leaving her clothing strewn about in the snow, there was no hesitation, or pause, at the water's edge. She jumped in, curling up into a ball a moment before hitting the water.

Ashe watched, bemused, but with no intention of going to Quinn's aid should she drown or get boiled alive - though the latter was unlikely, since there were no volcanoes nearby to heat the water.

A few seconds later, Quinn burst through the surface with a shout. “This is amazing! Ashe, come on!”

She splashed water in Ashe's direction, and it fell short, hitting the snow with a hiss and creating pockets of air in the previously uninterrupted blanket of white. Ashe approached, eyeing the water warily. Around the edges, it was shallow, but the river was pretty wide, and probably deep near the center.

Quinn disappeared under the water again, popping up a few seconds later with a gleeful laugh.

“It's so warm!”

“Keep it down, would you?” Ashe said, looking around the valley. “There may not be any animal tracks, but I have a hard time believing this place is completely empty.”

Leaving Quinn to swim back and forth in the river, she began following the river's edge to lower ground, where it would be easier to step into the water.

“Ashe, Ashe, come quick!” Quinn shouted only minutes later.

“What? What is it?” Ashe said, fearing the worst as she rushed over to where Quinn was, now sitting in shallower water.

“It's a _tongue thing_ ,” Quinn said, pointing to a nearby tree. “And it's watching us, look!”

Ashe looked over. She didn't immediately see it, because it camouflaged so well within the snow. It appeared she was right; they weren't alone in the valley. The red tongue gave it away, and Ashe squinted at the ball of fluff. There were two more nearby, completely motionless as they stared at Quinn and Ashe.

“Poros,” she said. “I didn't know they were around here. Relax, Quinn, they're one of Freljord's few indigenous creatures. Completely harmless, like a pet dog – though not really domesticated.”

“Domesticated?”

“Pets. Household pets, Quinn.”

“Oh. Are they rare?”

“Rare?”  
“I've never heard of them before.”

“You really didn't prepare, before coming out here, did you? It's hard to say. Though this is the first time I've seen one outside of the village.” Ashe took a step towards it. “I wonder if it'll let me pet it.”

“Outside of the village? Didn't you say they weren't – weren't domesticated?”

“They aren't, but from the winter solstice until Snowdown, there's a great migration. A couple thousand pass through the village in a few days. It's a tradition, and we prepare weeks in advance, cooking biscuits for them.”

“Thousands of them? That sounds fun.”

“It is,” Ashe nodded. “We make gifts for them too. Boots, hats, horn warmers, scarfs. And then we bring it all out and line up along the road. If a Poro takes your gift, it means good luck for the year.” She frowned. “Though, in retrospect, I don't think I've failed to give away my gift. Maybe I'm just a really good seamstress?”

“I think they're too cute to be rude, and would take your horn warmer no matter how deformed it is.”

Ashe laughed. “I guess so. There's a migration during the summer solstice too, but it isn't as big of an event. Aside from the solstices, though, I've never seen a Poro. But sometimes hunting teams come back saying they saw a fluft of Poros, so they're definitely out there.”

“Can they swim?” Quinn said.

“Not really. They float really well, but their paws are so small that the current would be too strong for them to go anywhere besides downstream. I wonder if this place is their home?”

Once it seemed Quinn had no more questions, Ashe returned to the beach she had found earlier.

There, she took off her winter gear, making sure to balance the majority of it on her boots, so they wouldn't get filled with snow. Standing barefoot in the snow wasn't all that bad – living in Freljord, she'd had no choice but to acclimate to the coldness – but a sense of impatience and excitement was still stirring within her, and it helped her take the first step into the water.

The intense change in temperature made her recoil, but before she could leap back out, Quinn, who had swam up into the shallows without her noticing, grabbed her feet.

“Come on, hurry up,” Quinn whined. “Isn't it nice? Quit dilly dallying.”

“Hold on,” Ashe said, though she let Quinn drag her in deeper. Once the water was at her waist, she stopped. “I'm not going any deeper.”

She knelt down until the water reached her neck, and sighed. It was, like Quinn had said, amazing. All the sweat accumulated from the first five days of her trial was washed away, and, leaning back, she let the water run through her hair.

Beyond wishing for a comb and shampoo, the only thing the outdoor hot-springs lacked was an underwater bench, so she could sit in the water and forget all her worries. Initially, she had been anxious about the water's current, but she realized it wasn't all that strong, and instead it felt like a massage. The way it ran through her hair was especially pleasant, and it made her want to stay forever.

Quinn tugged on her arm, and Ashe opened her eyes, annoyed by the interruption.

“I'm not going in over my head,” she said.

“You can't swim?” Quinn said, after a moment of contemplation.

“Not much opportunity, around here. I can skate, if that counts for anything.”

“Skate? Is that the thing where you attach swords to your boots?”

“I wouldn't call them swords, but yeah. Pretty much.”

“Wow. I thought only men did that. So, what's your record?”

“My record?”

“Farthest you've made it,” Quinn said, crouching in the water and sighing happily.

“Uh – are we talking about the same activity, here?”

“Sure. You put the skates on and see how far across the lake you can go before the ice breaks and you fall in.”

“Before the – _wha_ – that sounds dangerous!”

Quinn frowned. “It is. That's why I'm surprised you skate.”

“Aha,” Ashe said triumphantly. It was too crazy to be true. “You're joking! You can't trick me.”

“I'm serious.”

“Serious?”

“Serious.”

“And I thought Freljordians were the insane ones. Well, skating is different in Freljord. The entire lake is frozen and the ice doesn't break.”

“Oh.” Quinn looked up and down the river, apparently realizing it was an exception, and not the norm. “Then what do you do? What's the point of it?”

“Well, I mean, you can make the point up. There's sports you can play, like hockey. It’s a good means of transportation, in some regions of Freljord, or you can figure skate – like dancing-”

Quinn made a face. “I don't like dancing.”

“It's better when you have swords attached to your feet,” Ashe said. “Trust me.”

“I still don't get how you would move around like that. It sounds ridiculous.”

“No more than swimming – you should sink to the bottom if you weigh more than a Poro. You know what? I'll teach you to skate some time. It's fun.”

“Oh, then I'll show you how to swim!”

Ashe tried to refuse – both because she was a little ashamed at being taught by a junior, and because it really didn't feel like the place, nor the time, to learn – but Quinn was aggressive about it, and after getting them chased off a cliff by a Yeti, she figured she owed it to the girl. That didn't change the fact that she felt childish, holding on to Quinn's hands in the shallow waters, kicking her feet like her life depended on it.

 

“So what did you do in the winter then? For fun?” Ashe said, looking for a topic during their break to distract herself from the fact that she was learning such a critical skill from someone three years younger than her. At the very least, Quinn didn't seem bothered by the fact.  
“Hmm. There's less farm work to do in winter, so we had extra classes. From dawn until dusk – almost. Skating was never a thing because the closest lake to us was a village over, and that kind of trek would take forever. My mom did say she would teach me, in secret, when I got old enough – but I don't know if she was serious or not. Probably not. I guess, in the end, we did lots of snowball fights. Lots and lots of them. You probably have more, though.”

“Haven't in years,” Ashe said. It was something that was closely associated with childishness, so most kids stopped doing it by the time they turned fourteen.

Quinn looked at her, shocked before quickly recollecting herself. “Aha. You can't trick me. You're joking.”

“I'm serious.”

“Serious?”

“Serious.” Before the conversation could wrap around on itself, Ashe decided she needed to clear something up. “About earlier,” she said. “In the cave. You're claustrophobic?”

Quinn seemed to take the broach of the topic well, but she didn't respond immediately. Her answer, when she finally seemed to have decided on something, was curt.

“I don't like caves.”

“Oh. Well... there's one good thing about all this. You gave up your crossbow,” Ashe said with a grin. “Finally realized the superiority of the bow?”

“No,” Quinn said with a defiant glare. “I wouldn't be here today if I used a bow. You think bows can match the speed of magic?”

“They don't need to,” Ashe said, finding herself once again trying to estimate what kind of person Quinn was. “Wild animals don't use magic.”

Without verbally deciding it, they returned to Ashe's practice, where Quinn began teaching her about arm movements and breathing, and tactics to regain stamina while still in deep water – all of which Ashe only struggled with for a bit, before she figured them out. In an hour, Ashe was marginally less afraid of the river, but still didn't dare crossing it without being accompanied by Quinn; the current always dragged her so far downstream that if Quinn didn't follow, they would have been separated.

Finally, they called it quits on the practice, and Ashe relaxed in the hot waters, attempting to wash her feet, while Quinn continued endlessly swimming around.

“I've got it,” Ashe said, looking up at the trees with a growing smile.

“What?”

“What did the tree say after the long winter?”

“I don't know.”

“What a re-leaf!”

“I don't think anyone has ever told you this, so allow me to be the first. Your jokes are terrible,” Quinn said as she began swimming up river. “Relief? Really? That doesn't even work. All the trees in Freljord are pines and stuff. They don't have leaves.”

Ashe sighed. It was the tough audience, she told herself. “If you want to be a kill-joy, then you can just say the snow doesn't even melt here.”

She avoided pointing out coniferous trees _did_ have leaves, but they weren't seasonal, and instead she tried to move her thoughts beyond their newfound private hot-springs.

Time was running out for her to complete her trial, but she couldn't bring herself to panic – panic wouldn't help, and the hot water was doing a great deal for her mental health. She wished Quinn was right, and that she could just let herself fail, but it was way too soon – she was way too young – to give up on her dream of unifying Freljord. Returning to the nearby village to marry a stranger was an abhorrent prospect, but necessary.

For now, she was a free woman, and she would enjoy every last minute of it.

No matter how few remained.

 

Ashe lowered her head into the hot waters as a cold breeze blew by. The experience of being out in Freljord's cold and unforgiving environment, yet being so warm and comfortable was a little disorienting, and she found herself unable to keep still for very long.

Quinn seemed to feel the same way, because she was struggling to move upstream, alternating between swimming – where the current would slow her progress to a snail's pace – and trudging against the current. Several times, the girl seemed to lose her footing, and slip back a few steps before bracing herself against a larger rock on the river’s bottom.

Once the distance between them grew too much to talk, Ashe began to follow. She wasn't a good enough swimmer to fight the river, so she trudged upstream instead. Though even if she had been a good swimmer, she wouldn't have elected to fight the pointless battle against the water by swimming.

“Be careful,” Ashe shouted once they were farther upstream than usual. “Stay near the edges. There'll be a hole somewhere near the middle of the river, which leads down into the earth – that's where the river is getting its heat from. You'll boil yourself alive if you go too close to it.”

Quinn didn't answer, and as they worked their way up the river, Ashe began to think maybe she didn't hear.

“Quinn,” she said, before she sidestepped to the bank, formed a snowball, and lobbed it at the girl.

“But there's something here,” Quinn said, watching the snowball miss her by a foot and dissolve into the steaming waters. “There's something down there.”

“Down there? Down where? In the water?”

“Can't you feel it? Magic, or something.”

“Something?” The vague talk was beginning to bother her.

“It's powerful – this – it's what I came here looking for!”

“An artifact?”

Quinn nodded.

“And you're sure about this?”

Quinn nodded again, slower this time, and swam out to the center of the river. She looked ready to dive under at any second.

“I wonder if it's one of the Freljordian Gems,” Ashe said.

“What's that?”

“Three Freljordian Gems, used to control Freljord's atmosphere, and by extension, Runeterra's. It's said that the true Queen of Freljord is the one who owns all three of the gems, but they went missing five centuries ago.”

“Five centuries ago? Then why would they show up now?”

“You're right,” Ashe said. “Never mind.”

Without warning, Quinn took a deep breath and disappeared under the surface. Ashe didn't know if she would have stopped Quinn, if given the opportunity, so she was glad Quinn didn't delay any longer. She watched the spot where Quinn descended, and then shifted her attention downstream a little, taking into account the river's current.

Was it possible Quinn was actually playing a prank? She didn't seem like that sort of girl, but it seemed too convenient, for her to find what she came north for, after being chased by a Yeti and then falling down a ravine.

Before Ashe could decide if she was being played or not, Quinn resurfaced. Immediately, she rose her hand into the air. In it, a small box.

“I got it,” she shouted, though entirely unnecessary.

She made her way to the river's edge, and Ashe quickly followed.

“Your hands!” Ashe said once she was close enough. They were wrinkled and pink. “You burned them!”

Quinn formed a fist with one hand. “Not burned. It was hot, but I'll be fine. Besides, do you even see what I'm holding?”

It might have been that the excitement was masking the pain, but Quinn didn’t seem to mind in the least, and Ashe couldn't help but forget about the injury, in favour of staring at the box with wide eyes.

“That's the smallest treasure box I've ever seen,” she finally commented.

Quinn looked up at her with wide eyes. “How many have you seen?”  
“A fair few. Just what exactly do you think treasure boxes are? Traders use them to lock away their jewellery and rare goods, and our chieftain has a storeroom full of them, with heirlooms and the such. They're nothing special.”

“Oh.” Quinn looked crestfallen at the revelation.

“But sometimes our hunters bring them back. Tribes of the old used to hide their valuables deep in caves or under a lake's ice, and the shifting ice and snow reveals them over time.”

“Like this one!” Quinn said, thrusting the box forward.

“Yes, like this one. Now open it, I'm getting curious.”

There was, fortunately, no lock that required a key. Instead, it was a simple latch mechanism, which, though rusted, Quinn managed to open in mere seconds. The inside was empty but for a single item. A dark blue coin, no larger than a Demacian silver, but perhaps twice its thickness. Embroidered on the face of the coin was the image of the sun, with rays radiating outward from it.

“The Nadir Coin,” Ashe whispered, momentarily forgetting to breathe. “I can't believe it.” She shook her head when she realized she _shouldn't_ believe it. “It's a little odd, isn't it?”

“What is?” Quinn said, staring at the object, awestruck.

“Hundreds of thousands of square kilometers of tundra, forest, and mountains, and you just so happen to find what you're looking for?”

Quinn shrugged. “This isn't necessarily the artifact they were talking about back in Demacia. And besides, someone had to find it eventually, so why not us?”

“And the rumours,” Ashe continued. “Where did they even come from?”

Questioning the reality of the situation didn't seem to appeal to Quinn. “The Nadir Coin, you called it? What does it do?”

“You tell me,” Ashe said, giving up her suspicion and motioning towards the coin. “Pick it up.”

Quinn obeyed, her whole body stiffening when her fingers wrapped around the artifact. She looked around, then up towards the trees for a few seconds, before her eyes darted down to the water she stood in. Slowly, the girl turned the coin around in hand. Several revolutions later, she began wading towards the shallow waters. At the river's bank, she reached out and grabbed a handful of snow.

It was interesting to watch the girl's thought process, as her brain was receiving conflicting information. After forming a relatively spherical snowball in hand, and then running it along her body experimentally, she took a bite out of it. Her reaction showed she was making progress. She pressed the coin into the half eaten snowball, and then knelt down and submerged it in the water.

This was the first time Ashe could actually see the effects of the Nadir Coin. Nothing happened. The water ran around the snowball, leaving it completely untouched and unaffected – unmelted. Quinn was seemingly satisfied with the experiment, because she broke the coin free and watched the snowball drift downstream, rapidly shrinking in size until it was no more.

She retrieved one of her socks from her pile of clothing next to the river, and washed it in the water. Then, she pocketed the coin inside the sock. It dried in a matter of seconds. Next, she put it in the water. It didn't get wet, and that was apparently enough for Quinn to conclude her experiments. She retrieved the coin and threw the sock back to shore.

“Warm and dry,” Quinn said when she returned to where Ashe was standing in the water. “It keeps me warm and dry, but only on the outside of my body. It's the same for other objects, unless... their natural state is cold or wet?”

“You got it,” Ashe said with a smile.

“Here.”

Quinn flipped the coin through the air, and Ashe reflexively held out her hand, catching it. It landed in her palm, and it felt like her body had been put in limbo. The water's heat disappeared, and her ears immediately warmed up, until her entire body was the same, lukewarm temperature.

“What?” she said, after the initial shock passed.

“It's not any Freljordian gem, but take it. You saved me. It's repayment.”

“You don't owe me anything,” Ashe said. “I didn't do much more than stumble across you on a mountain. Besides, if anything, I owe you, for keeping me company and waking me before I became Yeti snack.”

“And I wouldn't have found it at all, if you hadn't stumbled across me. I wouldn't have found anything, if you hadn't. You said you needed something valuable, and this, well, it's both money and magic. You can't get much better.”

_Money, magic, and marriage._

Ashe ran a finger over the coin, tracing the contour of the sun. She could feel the magic as it ran across her skin, shielding her from the winds. Here, in the hot-springs, it may not have seemed so valuable, but protection from Freljord's constant wintry atmosphere was invaluable to any of the kingdom's inhabitants.

Though what Quinn had given her would do more than just keep her from the cold.

It would save her from a marriage. It would save her from failure. It would lead her on the path to her dreams. She would not squander the opportunity. She would unite Freljord, and Quinn's gift was the first tangible step towards this future.


	23. Banquet: First Half

They moved away from the road and the reporters, so nobody could overhear their conversation.

“I wanted to talk to you earlier, but you were always so busy,” Ashe said.

“Busy. Right.” Quinn wanted to leave – she didn't need reminders of her past, especially not of when she had been so weak and so stupid.

“And then the attack on High Summoner Irvine – did you hear they're going to announce his death, officially, tonight?”

“I hadn't heard.”

Lux reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her closer.

“And then this banquet – well, really, its implications – have been keeping me busy,” Ashe said, half turning to the nearest Institute building. I don't even have long now – there's still some things to wrap up before it all gets underway, but I would like to catch up sometime.”

“Yeah,” Quinn said.

“And, wow, this is long overdue, but here.”

She fished something out of her pocket and tossed it over to Quinn, who caught it on reflex. A long forgotten sensation covered her body, and she nearly dropped it.

“But it's yours,” Quinn said, staring at the fat blue coin in her hand.

“Finders keepers. I was just borrowing it... for a really long time.”

“I've no use for it. It's a Freljordian artifact – it should belong to a Freljordian.”

“We really have changed,” Ashe said with a grin. “Gotta run, now. Bye.”

Quinn made no move to stop her – still a little stunned at receiving the Nadir Coin, and at the nothingness her skin felt – and in seconds, Ashe was gone.

She only reacted when Lux poked her. The girl was watching her closely.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Quinn tightened her grip on the coin. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then. You need to explain, because that was really, really weird.”

“What?”

“It's _Ashe_. She doesn't hug people. She doesn't smile like that. She doesn't – she _isn't_ – not since her parents were killed.”

“Her parents were killed?”

“Don't change the subject,” Lux said, pulling Quinn back on the path so they could continue on to the banquet. “How do you know her? Explain. Are you friends?”

“I met her a long time ago. Like she said, seven years ago. I got lost in Freljord – well – more like I got caught in a blizzard, and she saved me.”

Lux seemed to relax at the answer. A few seconds later, a smile crossed her face. “Is this the part where you tell me you're secretly Gragas in disguise?”

If Quinn hadn't spent the first half of the day reading up on champions of the League, the joke might have escaped her. Gragas had supposedly met Ashe in similar circumstances, and had ended up doing her a large favour. Quinn had, too, by giving her the Nadir Coin, but Lux didn't know that, and though the girl eyed the coin curiously, she didn’t ask about it.

“Someone say my name?” a gruff voice said.

A man – unmistakably the one they had just been talking about – approached. Not only was his stomach massive, but he was a good head taller than Quinn, and his beard hair ran halfway down his stomach – longer than Lux's hair, though comparing the two was a little insulting to Lux. Though it shouldn't have been surprising, Quinn recoiled a little at his lack of shirt. Massive scars ran across his barrel chest, the skin dark and rippled as though it were a war-torn landscape.

His hands were bare of any alcohol, but it was almost certainly a temporary absence. Gragas grinned, pulling Lux into a one handed hug.

“You're back,” she laughed, returning the hug. “Just for the banquet, or longer?”

“Banquet?” Gragas said as they broke off the hug. “All this pizzazz doesn't suit me. I came for another reason.”

“Haven't found anything to match your true ice brew?”

“I had an epiphany while wandering the liquid lacking lands of Shurima. The brew _isn't_ everything,” he said, as though telling her an unbelievable old wives' tale. “There's more too it. Drinking is a story, and the brew's ingredients are the words. But what about the page's material? The front cover? The language it's written in? And where is the story being read? The outside atmosphere – _what is it_?”

“So you aren't here for the banquet?” Lux said, unaffected by the man's passionate outburst.

“I am.”

“Oh.” Lux seemed to be at a loss for words. Gragas' contradiction clearly hadn't escaped her notice.

He shifted, his belly swinging side to side. “Ashe is a good, strong woman. She can handle her own, but there's more than just politics and food at this banquet. I'm looking for something to titivate the drinking experience – to find my front cover – if you catch my drift. But enough about my adventures and desires – you're looking mighty fine, as always, Luxanna. Who's your nice lady friend, waiting so patiently behind you?”

“Ah.” Lux seemed relieved at the change of subject. “This is Quinn. Demacian, and newest member of the League – though that might change tonight, by the sound of things.”

Quinn stepped forward, but before she could speak, or offer her hand, Gragas swept her up into a tight hug. She held her breath, completely immobilized. The hug was incomparable to Ashe's, in so many ways, and she accepted her fate. A couple long seconds later, he released her.

“Pleasure to meet you, Quinn,” he boomed. “Demacia needs more people like you – no offense, Luxanna.”

“None taken,” she replied, apparently entirely by instinct because a second later her expression turned to that of confusion. “Wait – what's that supposed to mean?”

“Your ineptitude for alcohol is no secret. I've always thought Demacians are too lightweight, but Quinn here looks like she can hold her booze well.”

Lux offered her most innocent smile. “I'm curious to see if that's true. And if you did want to lend your support to Ashe – or just say hi – she's already inside.”

Gragas nodded, scratching at his beard. “I suppose I should tarry no longer. The night is young, and there are undertakings to plan!”

 

As soon as they entered the banquet hall, they came across Soraka. The woman was standing alone at the entrance, perhaps waiting for someone, or otherwise watching the ongoing activity inside the room. Her bright orange dress, which clung to her body to reveal her shapely curves, indicated she, too, had deemed it appropriate to dress up for the banquet. If Quinn was the only female wearing casual attire, she would have some choice words for Lux – not because she cared how she looked, but because it would draw unneeded attention towards her.

Soraka turned to them, nodded, and then did a double-take, her eyes widening.

“Lux,” she said, stepping forward to block their path. “You're here? I heard you weren't to be discharged until tomorrow morning.”

“Ahaha, of course I made it,” Lux said, dodging around her. “What a silly question. Silly, silly, silly. Oh, there's Karma! Let's go, Quinn. Can't keep her waiting.”

When Quinn turned her suspicion onto Lux, the girl grabbed her arm and forcefully pulled her along, leaving behind an exasperated Soraka.

As expected of the Institute of War, the banquet hall was overwhelming. Even if it had been empty of people and tables, its sheer size was intimidating. The architecture was grandiose – a high vaulted ceiling, stain-glassed windows, and pillars that reminded Quinn of the Rift Room, which held Suuntaava and the teleportation pedestals. Eleven massive banners hung along the walls, unique crests sewn on each one, which further reinforced the feeling of a place of gathering for global powerhouses. Clockwise around the room – and true to their geographical positions relative to Senta – Freljord, Ionia, Piltover, Zaun, Noxus, Bilgewater, Yordle Land, Shurima, and Demacia. There were two additional crests, which didn't strictly belong to any nation. One was for the independent champions, which the champions of the Shadow Isles and Void were lumped in with, and the other was the Institute of War's crest.

The Institute of War's crest was a complex thing, unlike Demacia's clean silver sword and shields, or Noxus' double headed battle-axe. It consisted of a temple, three gems, and a book, all within a circle. The book was splayed open, its purple pages partially lifted up, as if there was an invisible wind running through the text, and the ends of the pages mutated into hair, which draped over the circle's edge, falling downwards. There were more details, like how chains were connected to the book as though to trap it inside the crest, the powerful aura which appeared to engulf the gems, and the ancient text, unreadable, that ran along the circle's circumference.

It was probably filled with metaphors and symbolism – a treasure trove for historians – but it held little interest for Quinn.

She was more interested in the activity on the floor. Summoners were talking amongst themselves, in small groups, and waiters roamed around, making final preparations. The tables were long and rectangular, rather than the circular ones at Demacian banquets, and there were no seats at either end – no opportunity for someone to sit at the table's position of authority.

“Lots of Summoners around,” Quinn observed as they slowed down to examine the entire setup.

“It's always like that,” Lux said. “Deterrent from making a scene. Nobody wants to be publicly subdued by a bunch of Summoners.”

“Can they really take on a champion?”

“There's enough of them,” Lux said. “And besides, the troublemakers generally aren't invited. If you're imprisoned by the Institute, you don't get to see many events – or much sunlight at all, really.”

Aside from Summoners and waiters, there were lots of champions who had already arrived, despite the start time of the banquet still being quite a ways away.

At the front of the room, two tables were perpendicular to the rest. High Summoner Vessaria and Dandridge were present at one of the tables, and at the other, Sejuani was waiting, arms crossed. Ashe was positioned a short distance away, too. It seemed the two tables at the front were reserved for the High Summoners and the Freljordian princesses – though Lissandra wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Remembering their short encounter the previous night was enough to make Quinncold, and she rubbed her arm.

“Cold?” Lux asked.

It actually wasn't entirely Quinn's imagination. The room _was_ cold. “More so than I thought I would be.”

“The Summoners should get things under control soon. Freljord's out in force tonight, and some of them are excellent manipulators of the environment.”

Lux pointed up at the ceiling, where snowflakes seemed to materialize out of nothing. They melted quickly, before they could drop more than a few meters, and nobody seemed to care. “I almost feel sorry for the Summoners – they're going to be our portable heaters for the next few hours, while we eat delicious food and get drunk.”

Quinn didn't feel sorry for them, but that might have had something to do with their magic capabilities.

“I just don't get why they're going through all this effort,” she said. “Champions don't have the authority to make decisions for their kingdom, do they? It would make sense if the ambassadors were invited, or something, but just the champions?”

“Just try to enjoy the banquet for what it is – for most of us, it's an opportunity to let loose and have some fun. There is going to be some stuff happening – champions jockeying for position and testing the waters. You saw outside, didn't you? Tristana and Nidalee? You never know, maybe Nidalee is going to side with Bandle city, and Bandle City may already know who they want to support, and they'll be making more deals, in between the passing around of food.”

Quinn looked over to the table of Yordles. The inhabitants of Bandle City all seemed innocent and excited, but Lux was probably right.

Lux sighed. “I heard Prince Jarvan's orders to Taric – which amounted to not doing anything aside from breathing and eating – and I imagineother champions have orders from their nations, too.”

From two tables over, Karma caught their attention, waved them over, and pointed to their seats. They approached, and Quinn stopped, stunned at the assembly of champions at the crowded table. Earlier that day, she'd had spent some time familiarizing herself with all the champions, so there was no surprise that she recognized everyone at the table, but she was surprised she had personally met almost all of them, in the past few weeks.

Seated on her side of the table, from left to right, was Janna, Lux, herself, Akali, and then an empty chair. On the opposite side of the table, Karma, Irelia, an empty chair, Caitlyn, and, finally, Sarah. The diversity of the table surprised her; there were representatives from five of the major nations. Freljord had probably been left out because all their champions were seated at the front of the room, and Noxus was lacking representation for obvious reasons. The only others missing were Yordle Land and Shurima – both of which were south of the Great Barrier and much less populous.

The sudden presence of so many people was overwhelming, and before Quinn could sit down, she noticed a problem. The dynamic of the table was _wrong_. Karma, the one who had organized their group, was sitting off to the side, when only two seats over, the middle chair was empty. And across from that empty chair, Quinn was supposed to sit. That put her at the center of the table – something she certainly didn't want, especially if no one arrived to take the opposing chair.

“Lux, Quinn, welcome,” Karma said. “Take your seats. No need to be shy – we all know each other here.”

Lux seemed to notice her hesitation, because she subtly kicked Quinn's foot as she took a seat. There was nothing Quinn could do about it – expressing any discomfort would only make it worse – so she sat down, too.

“There's still five minutes before the banquet begins, officially, but you two complete our table,” Karma said, confirming Quinn's worst fears.

“What about the empty seats?” Lux asked. Whether or not she realized that was Quinn's concern, Quinn silently thanked her.

“As I was explaining shortly before you two arrived, unfortunately not all of us could make it,” Karma said.

Sarah, the only one Quinn had yet to personally meet, slammed a fist down onto the table, drawing concerned looks from nearby Summoners and waiters alike.

She wasn't wearing a dress – probably couldn't, if she ever wanted to call herself a pirate again – but like every other female champion of the League, she had her own, unique beauty. She wore a tight camisole, exposing her midriff but unconcerned with how much skin she was showing, and her long red hair flowed down her shoulders. Strong arms and tanned skin made it clear her life as a pirate – and of a champion – was not easy, but when she clenched her jaw and stretched her neck, her neck bones were surprisingly thin, showing that she hadn't foregone all her femininity.

“I can't believe that idiot,” she said, pulling her fist away. “Why'd she have to go get herself banned? I was really looking forward to drinking with her.”

“Who?” Quinn said.

“Sivir,” Sarah said, staring at her incredulously. “They never told you? I mean, it's your fault. She was banned for the stunt she pulled at your introduction.”

It struck Quinn as odd, being blamed for it when it was entirely Sivir's fault, but she bit her tongue and vowed to keep her talking to a minimum, throughout the rest of the dinner.

“There's a lot of Ionians, here,” Sarah muttered, tapping her finger on the table. She turned an accusing eye to Karma. “Didn't you spout some nonsense about a balanced representation to get me here? And now you're going back on your word.”

Karma shook her head. “Demacia is equally represented, here.”

“It's two to three, by my count.”

“Two to two, by mine. Akali's duty is to the Kinkou Order.”

“Doesn't stop you from using me like a slave,” Akali muttered.

Sarah was already moving on, challenging Caitlyn's perfume, but Caitlyn wouldn't have any of it.

“Sarah, shut up,” she said. “Nobody likes it when you act like this.”

Sarah looked around at everyone, and must have realized her complaints weren't appreciated, because she crossed her arms with a heavy sigh and offered no more input. The table basked in the silence for a few seconds before Caitlyn spoke.

“Why us, then?” she said, keeping the tone as diplomatic as possible.

The sudden question, even without context, must have been the question on everyone's mind, because in seconds, everyone was looking towards Karma for an answer.

Sarah, able to keep silent for all of five seconds, cleared her throat. “Isn't it obvious? This is the first meeting of the newly formed League Spinster Association.”

“That's depressing,” Akali said. “I don't need any reminders.”

Karma chuckled. “No, that's not the reason.” She looked around the table. “Though I suppose it _could_ be, but we'll leave the relationship talk for later.”

“Once the alcohol gets out,” Akali whispered with a grin.

“Oh, I know!” Lux said, practically bouncing in her chair. “You wanted to group the beautiful, young woman together to save us from the boring conversations of men!”

“I don't know about young,” Irelia said, giving Karma a sidelong glance.

“Quit being so bitter, Irelia. You knew she wouldn't come,” Karma said.

“Enlighten us, Karma,” Irelia said, ignoring her. “We all want to know.”

Karma didn't respond immediately. Instead, she looked at each member of the table individually, her violet eyes analytical and hiding her true intention.

“Because I'm bored of Ionians,” she said, failing to deliver on the suspense she had built up.

Several members of the table groaned. It seemed, even to Quinn, like Karma had evaded the question.

“No, no,” she said. “Hear me out. We always have the same conversations. Master Yi insists we strengthen our army for when Noxus comes again, and then Lee Sin counters, and it becomes a pointless conversation that I've already heard a hundred times.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Lux said, coming to Karma's aid. “It's similar with Demacia. At least here things will stay interesting.”

As if taking the words to heart, the conversation changed to the attack on High Summoner Irvin's death, and from there, it jumped subjects a half dozen times, and splintered off into multiple ongoing conversations.

Unfortunately, at the center of the table, Quinn found herself easily able to pay attention to everyone, and all the information she collected hinted towards some hidden hostilities. Irelia and Janna were openly hostile to each other, because of their differing opinions on the Unwilling Passengers, but it seemed Irelia might have also had something against Sarah, and Sarah would lash out at anyone who had slighted her in the least. Lux had previously admitted to not being on good terms with Karma, and Quinn had seen how Akali treated her, but Irelia showed no difference, which was odd because she was Ionian too. Perhaps the seating arrangement was more complex than Quinn had initially thought. It couldn't be easy to keep people from five different nations in harmony.

  


A high pitched din interrupted their conversation. At the front of the room,High Councilor Linden rose to his feet, set aside a wine glass and knife, and stepped up to the center podium. He was the same man who had spoke before her introduction to the League of Legends. He still looked old, but this time he was without papers to shuffle around, giving Quinn hope that the speech wouldn’t be long.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice magically augmented and booming through the room. “Welcome to the Freljordian Banquet. The Institute of War holds this banquet today, in spite of the difficulties faced around the world, because today is a historic day – today, there is cause to celebrate.”

The crowd was silent, showing a surprising amount of respect for the man as they watched attentively. Vessaria and Dandridge sat behind him, an empty seat between them.

“Twenty two years ago, the Institute of War was founded. It was a time of chaos, where only the strongest and most brutal thrived, and Summoners from every corner of Runeterra banded together, casting away their allegiances to form an organization that would serve the world.”

As he continued speaking, Quinn realized it would not be a short speech. While feigning to pay attention, her eyes scanned the room.

The Noxus table, without Katarina and Cassiopeia, didn't look so imposing. The Blood Brothers were there, but they were completely different from fangs and knives. Though no one would say it aloud, Draven was effeminate in his obsession with his looks – specifically his facial hair, which no one would deny had ever been seen messy – and his loud mouth allayed fears of the unknown. Cassiopeia was in stark contrast to Draven. She had not a care in the world when it came to her looks, and would bear her fangs at anyone who so much as looked at her wrong, and no one knew exactly what she was thinking during those moments. Was she a crazed half snake who was exerting willpower to not to bite into innocent passersby, or was it a simple scare tactic?

Draven and Cassiopeia were opposites, and it wasn't much of a stretch to recognize their respective siblings, Darius and Katarina, also as opposites. Darius valued raw strength, and every swing of his axe held behind it the intention of decapitation. He would rend armour and shatter bone, and being on the receiving end of one of his attacks meant, at the very least, it would be a quick, painless death. And if he was the woodcutter, then Katarina was the surgeon. She carried hundreds of knives – though some magic was obviously involved because there was no way she was hiding them all under her shirt – and she wielded them with a deadly accuracy. A single blade of hers was usually enough, if she wanted, but she rarely did. The throwing knives never came alone. One cut to the shoulder would be followed by a thousand nicks to the skin everywhere else on the body, and when she was done playing with her prey, assuming she wasn't content to leave it bleed to death, her blades would always find their mark, never hitting bone and easily finding their way to the vital organs. Throwing knives weren't a common weapon in Runeterra, but it meant no less saying she was the best in the world at it.

When Quinn's eyes travelled over LeBlanc, the woman noticed immediately and gave her a wide smile.

At the independent table, she met the eyes of a little girl in a pink dress. Annie Hastur, the youngest champion of the League of Legends, who was also imprisoned by the Institute. Lux had said the League's prisoners wouldn't be in attendance, but she was wrong on at least this account. From a distance, the girl looked like a life sized doll. Her eyes made no indication of recognizing Quinn as a person – rather, it felt like the girl was staring directly through her, or perhaps seeing anything at all. It was strange, and it saddened Quinn. Such a young girl was already ruined by magic.

Supposedly, Annie had ran away from home at a young age. Her and Quinn had that much in common, but probably not much more. After running away from home, and following a series of ruthless arsons, Annie was caught by the Institute of War. Her parents had probably refused to take her back, being unable to handle her destructive magic, and thus she was imprisoned by the Institute. The duration of her incarceration was unstated.

Maybe if Annie wasn't a psychopath, Quinn might have felt some camaraderie between them, for both being girls who'd ran away from home at a young age. No matter what nation, it wasn't easy being homeless at a young age. But instead, seeing the young girl and her lifeless stare only made Quinn restless.

Even minutes later, Quinn could still remember her gaze. She refocused on the High Councilor's speech. It seemed he was done recounting Runeterra's entire history.

“Today is another step towards peace throughout Runeterra,” he said. “Today, we welcome our one hundred and thirteenth champion to the League of Legends – the leader of Freljord's Frostguard – Lissandra.”

Lissandra, like so many other powerful mages, thought herself too elite to walk. Beside High Councilor Linden, a patch of ice appeared. She rose up from it, and was standing next to him in the blink of an eye, a thin layer of ice covering her body, like armour. It shattered a second later and the shards of ice twinkled in the light. The crowd was silent – most had already known of, or heavily suspected, the development. Lissandra stood still as the shimmering ice that encompassed her body gradually fell to the ground.

“For five centuries, Freljord has had no ruler. Five hundred years of vulnerability, where infighting has plagued the cold lands. It has been tradition, that Freljord is ruled by a queen. A queen who is both strong and diligent, and who rallies the people of all tribes together, for the benefit of everyone. The entirety of Freljord is at her command, not just her people. To assist her in her duties, the very snow, ice, and earth respond to her will. She is the ultimate ruler of the land, and she is not chosen on a whim. There are requirements to be met, for one to become Freljord's next queen.”

From a side door, a Summoner stepped into the room, pushing a trolley. Its contents were covered by a red cloth, and he brought it directly up onto the platform where the High Councilor spoke.

The High Councilor nodded to the Summoner, and continued his speech uninterrupted. “Firstly, the next Queen of Freljord must have the blood of one of the three sisters flowing through her veins. Ashe, descendant of Avarosa, meets this condition. Sejuani, descendant of Serylda, meets this condition. Lissandra, as one of the original sisters, meets this condition.

“The second requirement is that the next queen of Freljord shall collect all three Freljordian Gems. The Snow Gem, the Ice Gem, and the Earth Gem. She shall bring these gems to the Frostguard Citadel, far in the north, beyond the Howling Abyss, where she will place them upon their rightful pedestals to complete the time-honoured tradition. This is the reason Freljord has not recognized a new queen for five hundred years. The location of two of these gems, the Snow Gem and the Earth Gem, are unknown.

“The Ice Gem, however, is not lost. It resides here, with the Institute of War.”

He pulled the cloth off the trolley with a flourish. The room fell silent as all eyes landed on the gem placed atop a plush cushion at the center of the trolley. It was, without a doubt, one of the Freljordian Gems. And it was in Senta, under the ownership of the Institute of War.

Ashe, Sejuani, and Lissandra didn't react. They must have been informed beforehand, because they stared forward, looks of determination etched onto their faces.

“The Institute of War and the three recognized princesses of Freljord have come to an agreement,” High Councilor Linden said.“This gem, under normal circumstances, is not enough for Freljord to recognize its bearer as queen. For this reason, and with the assistance of High Summoner Irvine, High Summoner Dandridge, and High Summoner Vessaria, we have funneled great amounts of magic into the Ice Gem over the course of many years. Possession of this gem, alone, is sufficient for Freljord to recognize a new queen.

“In order to end this period of strife in Freljord, the Institute of War will host a tournament, to take place on the Fields of Justice between champions chosen by the three princesses. The victor of this tournament will receive the Ice Gem, and will become the Queen of Freljord.”

The room noticeably dropped in temperature, and a ripple of excitement ran through the crowd. It was, perhaps, more because of the high profile battles that were coming up than because Freljord's civil war would finally come to an end.

“The tournament will begin in thirty days. The structure of the tournament, and additional details, will be revealed tomorrow. For now, let us hear from each Freljordian princess.”

Lissandra took a seat at the Freljord table, next to an ugly, blue haired monster – her only ally in the entire room, Trundle.

It seemed Ashe was first to speak, because she stood, nodding towards Tryndamere before taking center stage. Thankfully, her speech was quick and to the point. She believed Freljord could be made united and strong through a focus on economy.

While Ashe dressed like a true princess, Sejuani had decided to wear her battle armour – the look of a true warlord. Her voice was unfriendly and authoritative. She seemed to focus on one point that Ashe's campaign didn't include – a military strength capable of rivaling Noxus. For many nations, Demacia included, the thought of having another ally – or at least another nation – capable of standing up to Noxus was appealing. That was what Sejuani was banking on. It was easy to imagine Ionia supporting her, for thisreason alone. Like Ashe, her speech was only a couple minutes long, and then all of a sudden the atmosphere of the room seemed to change. The air was saturated with curiosity, and every head was facing towards Lissandra.

The woman glided forward. Her face showed no emotions.

“You all know what I want,” she said.“I will succeed. I've had five centuries to work with, and I stand before you now, not able to speak the truth, for so long has passed since I have, that I do not remember it in its entirety, and I fear attempting to recreate it will further me from that which once made me human. Was it the world I wanted to rescue, when my peers fought with reason? Or retribution, when they were slain. Redemption, in the eyes of old heroes whom never understood – or perhaps did, yet refused to take the burden upon themselves? But alas, does it not matter?”

Her voice commanded authority, even more than Sejuani's, and the entire room was hanging on every word she said. Some had probably hoped she would reveal a different plan, something more productive than beginning an ice age that would cover the entire continent, and others listened for an explanation – a reason for the insanity. Everyone had a story, and people wanted to believe that Lissandra had one which could explain what she had become and why. There was motivation, somewhere, lost over the course of five centuries.

She turned her back to the crowd, and faced Ashe and Sejuani. Ashe kept looking forward, but Sejuani tilted her head slightly towards Lissandra.

“This is not punishment for your violence and foolishness. It goes beyond the Avarosan, Winter's Claw, and Frostguard. The world will turn to ice.”

She returned to her seat in almost complete silence. A single boo erupted from the Yordle table but was quickly silenced with a _thud_. High Councilor Linden then announced food would arrive shortly, and the room turned into a cacophony of conversations.

Despite things going roughly as expected, everyone seemed eager to talk about it at the same time. Fortunately, Lux didn't jump into the conversation, leaving Quinn someone who she was comfortable talking to.

“Why wasn't she introduced publicly, like I was?” Quinn said.

“Would you want her near the public?” Lux responded. “Some champions are just walking disasters. Most don't find killing civilians fun, but we've got category 'J' champs, for unpredictable people like her, and category 'K' champs for the predictable and kill-everythingy type. Category K champions are mostly the imprisoned ones.”

“Like Thresh and Annie?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you notice Annie is here? Why is she allowed?”

Before Lux could answer, the food arrived.

On either side of the room, large double-leaf doors swung open. A line of waiters walked out, pushing rolling tables with platters of food covered by metallic domes that glinted in the room's lighting, and on three separate occasions Quinn expected the line to end, but more food kept coming. Empty plates were placed in front of each of them, along with a myriad of utensils, and then the platters of food were set at the center of the table, and once their lids were removed, the scent of food filled their air.

Quinn didn't know how many courses there would be, but they didn't start slow, and just like in Demacia, they took their food presentation seriously.

A crown roast of pork was placed in front of them, dark skin shining with grease and the bones jutting upwards. The roast was still steaming, garnished with sage and sprig, and placed next to it was a watercress salad composed of green leaves and slices of orange, with a multitude of nuts mixed in. The bread platter, with garlic adorning the rim, had three choices – cornbread, flatbread, or garlic bread. Their choices for cheese wasn't lacking, either. The cheese platter had massive cheese wheels and countless slices of cheese. Some were blue, some had holes in them, and some – the ones Quinn avoided – were quietly squealing. Crackers, olives, and garlic were also available to accompany the cheese.

Other platters consisted of fried leeks and other vegetables prepared in different ways, and more choices of meat, for those who didn't like roast lamb.

Conversation quickly died as the food kept coming and everyone began to take their helpings. Five minutes into the first course, a full garlic flew over their table. Quinn tracked it, nearly dropping her fork when she saw where it landed. It bounced off someone's forehead and landed in their soup. The targeted man didn't hesitate when he reached into his hot soup to grab it. He pulled it out, examined it, and then took a large bite out of the garlic, before glowering at the source of the attack – the Yordle Land table. Someone from the table yelped, and the man, seemingly content, tossed the half eaten garlic into the air behind him, where it exploded in a ball of blood that splattered on the ground.

“How is it that Bandle City has never started a war with another nation before?” Janna said,having witnessed the same thing. In fact, most of their table seemed to have followed the incident, but nobody seemed bothered by it.

“Because it would be too damn embarrassing to declare war on them,” Sarah said.

“Their land is of no value to Noxus,” Karma said. “Besides, Vladimir isn't really weak to garlic. That rumour has to be one of the silliest to come out of the League of Legends.”

“I don't know about that,” Sarah said. “There are plenty of other, sillier, ones. What I do think is, if we really put our minds to it, we could have the world's greatest food fight.”

“We could have the world's greatest anything fight,” Lux pointed out.

Despite not a single man sitting at their table, the conversation still devolved into discussing wars.

The new courses that were brought out were less standard than Demacia's banquets, and it was Quinn's first opportunity to see how the Institute represented all the different nations' cuisines. Akali loaded her plate with deep fried seafood and vegetables, an Ionian specialty, and when Sarah commented on how good it smelled, Akali seemed to have taken personal offense, and began stabbing violently at her food. Though Quinn didn't understand it, Sarah had clearly meant to agitate her.

Karma convinced Quinn to try another Ionian specialty that arrived on their table – fried noodles with pork and vegetables. The sauce, alone, tasted good enough that she could have only ate the noodles as her entire meal, but Karma had kept warning her that there was still many unique foods that had yet to come.

The sound of music made Quinn take a temporary break from eating. At the back of the room, the stool of a grand piano was occupied by a woman. It wasn't Soraka, as Quinn had first thought, but Evelynn. Her skin was slightly bluer than Soraka's, but it was the hair that made her really stand out. It changed every time Quinn blinked – sometimes it appeared pink, and other times it was purple or red, or some colour in between that Quinn couldn't confidently name. Three blood-red roses were positioned in Evelynn’s hair, above her left ear.

She wore a beautiful, dark red dress embroidered with intricate black designs near the hem, and the cloth seemed to flow off her skin as her hands moved over the piano's keys. Judging by the first few notes, her confidence wasn't a false bravado; she was a very skilled piano player.

At the Bilgewater table, Twisted Fate seemed agonized by the music, first covering his ears and then pulled his head down to block out his face. His legs tensed, as if he was going to stand up and leave, but ultimately, conversation with the only other two people at the table – Gangplank and Graves – kept him still.

From the Demacian table, Sona was watching Evelynn intently. She was also a musician – her instrument, Etwahl, had been her path to fame – so it made sense, but it was still a little interesting. There were so many champions, and they all were connected in small, unexpected ways. Did Evelynn know someone was watching her so closely?

  


True to Karma's word, the next course had odder plates. The clam chowder held in bowls of hollowed out bread left her speechless, and then the fried chicken on waffles with whipped cream outright confused her. Apparently, Ionia fried and combined anything they could get their hands on. Despite these odd foods, it was the truffle platter that created the most conversation. Burgundy truffles were found only in a small area of Ionia's Navori region, whereas the white truffles were found around the Serpentine river, and everyone at the table seemed to enjoy arguing which were best, and how to properly eat them.

“The fun begins,” Sarah said, after interest in the truffle debate died down.A smile crossed her face for the first time that night.

“Fun?” Quinn said.

Her attention was redirected towards the edge of the room, where a large panel on the wall lifted up, revealing an additional space, separated by a polished redwood counter. Behind the counter, a glass cabinet which held countless bottles of alcohol.

Caitlyn watched the scene for a moment before grinning. “They're opening the bar and bringing out the drinks.”

Quinn eyed her glass of water. She had been too distracted by all the food to notice the lack of alcohol.

“Why only now?” she asked.

“It took the Institute of War a few years to realize, but they can't start a banquet with alcohol,” Caitlyn said. “It's not even Jax and Gragas' fault. There's a surprising number of us who think they're immune to its effects, or otherwise don't understand moderation. So they wait a little bit, before letting things really start.”

“You're included in that 'surprising' number,” Karma said.

“I'm not that bad,” Caitlyn protested.

“You're arguably the worst offender,” Karma insisted.

Caitlyn took it as a joke – or maybe a compliment – and smiled.

Akali nodded, leaning towards Quinn. “Keep an eye on her. When she starts acting out, we need to cut her off.”

“Who? Caitlyn?” Quinn said, not believing Caitlyn could cause any trouble.

“It's sort of a repressed desire, I think,” Akali said. “As the Sheriff of Piltover, she rarely gets the opportunity to have fun. Enforcing the law all the time isn't easy, so when she gets her hands on alcohol, well, she gets this really nasty sense of humor. Like something you would expect out of Fizz. It's gotten worse in recent months, and I think Vi is to blame for it, encouraging her to drink and let loose.”

The waiters must have been briefed beforehand, because one of them immediately appeared before Sarah.

“A pitcher of Myron's Dark, please,” she said.

The man nodded, showing no surprise at an entire pitcher being requested. This wasn't his first time on banquet duty, apparently.

“Not ordering from your own stock?” Karma asked, surprised.

“I don't like getting drunk on my own brew – even for me, that's too vain.”

Lux leaned forward. “You have your own brew?”

“I sure do,” Sarah said. “Rapture Rum – the best rum in all of Bilgewater, and by extension, Runeterra.”

“Hmm. I'll have some of that, then,” Caitlyn told the waiter.

Lux had requested the waiter's wine recommendation, and Karma ordered Sake – an Ionian favorite. Akali listened patiently to everyone else, but never ordered a drink of her own – something to do with the Kinkou Order's restriction on alcohol. Quinn decided to start slow, and got herself a beer.

Though she hadn't really believed it when Caitlyn said so, the availability of alcohol seemed to signal the real start of the banquet. Champions began moving between tables, visiting each other and the bar, greatly increasing the noise level, and Sarah become a hundred times more tolerable – it turned out sober Sarah was the grumpy one at the beginning of the banquet, and inebriated Sarah was a much more cordial person.

Half listening to the conversation – Sarah trying to take bets on how long Irelia and Janna would last before they started fighting – Quinn sipped on her drink and started paying attention to the room beyond their table.

At the Demacian table, she observed an irregularity with Vayne. When Sona excused herself momentarily, Vayne watched her leave and then slumped over, as though the life was sucked out of her body. Her dark braided hair came dangerously close to falling into her soup, and then she crossed her arms on the table and dropped her head onto them and closed her eyes. Nobody else seemed to notice – or possibly cared about – Vayne's behaviour. It was like she had suddenly decided it was time for a nap.

Then again, Vayne had seemed exhausted even in the Demacian headquarters, when Quinn had showed up a week ago. Inspired by the fantasy books she had read, Quinn theorized that Vayne was cursed and dying a very slow death, and only Sona's presence could offset the pain – or maybe it was the romance books that were influencing her thoughts. In either case, there was precedence for it, considering Irelia's dependence on Soraka's magic to keep her soul in Runeterra. And then there was the embarrassing story about Vayne, years ago on the Rift, too.

  


If Lux was a lightweight drinker, then Janna was a featherweight. Halfway through her second drink, she stopped making sense.

“I'm a queen, now,” she said, slurring her words. “I'm stronger and more useful than a king – I don't even need a king. I was a pawn, and I made it to the last rank and was promoted to a queen! And the king – the king is a coward, still hiding away next to his rooks on the first rank. He's moved nowhere, and never will!”

Irelia snorted, but didn't say anything.

“Irelia,” Janna shouted, noticing the reaction. “I challenge you to a game of chess! We'll settle this once and for all.”

“Inferior!” Irelia responded in kind, hiccuping and slamming the table. “Both you and that game are inferior! The fate of the Unwilling Passengers shouldn't be decided over such a childish game! Play me at a real strategy game, like shogi!”

“Calm down, you two,” Karma finally interjected. “The solution is obvious. You must settle this debate with a game of Go.”

Simultaneously, both women turned on the duchess.

“Go is stupid!”

“It only has one piece!”

“But its complexity,” Karma said, her plea falling on deaf ears.

A short while later, to Quinn's surprise, Gerrit approached their table. Someone had mentioned how Summoners weren't to interact with anyone unless trouble was brewing, but Gerrit skirting the rules somehow didn't surprise her. He snuck up on Janna and tapped her on the shoulder. She half turned, but when she saw his face, resumed eating her food.

“I visited Zaun last month,” he said, hiding any irritation he felt at being snubbed. “Earl passed away.”

A dark look crossed Janna's face, and she pushed her plate away.

“I don't care,” she said, dropping her fork with a clatter.

“The rest are fine. Zella was asking about you.”

“I said, _I – don't – care_.”

“She always asks about you.”

Janna stood up, knocking her chair into Gerrit, who stumbled backwards. She spun around, fists clenched. “Look at us,” she said. “Look at where we are. You're a _Summoner_ , what more could you want? I'm a _champion_ of the League – I have money, power, respect – I have a motherfucking fan club – and you have the audacity to talk about what once was? We're out of that shithole, and – and that's that. No reason to look back, no reason to turn back.”

The outburst caught Gerrit by surprise, and he took a few steps back, his face pale. It didn't seem like he could formulate a response.

“That's right,” Janna said. “So don't talk to me about them. We've moved on. We've made our decisions, they've made theirs.”

Slowly, Gerrit nodded. “We've made our decisions. Right or wrong, we need to live with them for the rest of our lives. There's no going back.”

Just as he was about to leave, his eyes widened and he stopped, tapping his ring finger.Janna looked down at her own.

Sitting only two seats down from the drama, Quinn could see a gold ring on her finger. Around the band, two hands enveloped a heart, with a crown rested on top. It was an unfamiliar design, but the ring was still quite beautiful, if not scratched and discoloured from age.

“What was it, again?” Gerrit said. “Friendship, love, loyalty?”

It slipped off Janna's finger without her touching it. Her cloak fluttered in a localized wind, and the ring fell into an opened pocket. The fabric flowed back into place, perfectly hiding the pocket again.

“It looks nice on me,” she said haughtily. “You have a problem with that?”

“Yes, I do. You don't think you deserve to wear it. You said it yourself – we've made our decisions, and we've moved on.”

Not waiting for another potential outburst, Gerrit retreated to the edge of the room, joining other Summoners who pretended they didn't see what had just transpired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old Lore Runeterra Map: <https://imgur.com/kVtmQKM>


	24. Banquet: Second Half

The dessert course left Quinn speechless.

Without warning, it all appeared in front of her. Chocolate dipped frozen cheesecake, chocolate dipped strawberries, and caramel apples. One of the platters consisted of pure chocolate – raw chunks of dark and white chocolate intermixed, of differing shapes and sizes. Another platter featured doughnuts – something she'd never had before, but their glazed tops made them irresistible and she quickly loaded her plate with a couple.

There were chocolate covered bananas, too, with multi-coloured sprinkles on top. Sarah attempted to eat one in a single bite and ended up choking, and somehow Caitlyn thought it would be a good idea to try and copy her, and in the subsequent minutes, their table drew too many stares for Quinn's liking.

The highlight of the dessert course were the large pretzels, dipped in icing sugar and drizzled with chocolate, with white snowflake sprinkles on top. Karma, who had yet to touch any desserts, even had one. Quinn ate three before she could stop herself, and had to promise herself she would get proper exercise tomorrow, no matter how lazy the banquet made her feel.

“Shaved ice?” Irelia said, questioning one of the platters. “Anyone have the heart to tell them they're five months early for Snowdown?”

Caitlyn grabbed one of the blue lumps of ice in a cone. “Can you just imagine what the last week of the year is going to be like? Snowdown, and then the tenth anniversary of the League? They're going to need – _so – much – chocolate_. Oh, hey, Quinn? Have you heard from Ziggs?”

“Ziggs? No, not recently. Has he found something?”

Caitlyn nodded, pausing to take a bite out of her doughnut and then shaved ice. “He says he's made a breakthrough, but wouldn't tell me anything. Pisses me off, considering I was the one who hired him, but I guess you're the one who deserves to know. He said he wouldn't even tell Lux, and then he zipped his lips – literally, did the zipping motion – and wouldn't say anything else to me.”

“I see.” Quinn would have to hunt him down later. “By the way, I don't think I ever properly thanked you for getting Ziggs' assistance – so, thank you.”

“No problem,” Caitlyn said. “If you had a bomb maniac at your disposal, and someone blew up Vi, you'd help me, right?”

“I-”

“Actually, no. Please don't go hunting for the bomber if that happens. If someone tries to kill Vi, it'll probably be me, trying to get myself a few days of peace and quiet around the office.”

  


Taric approached their table, and Quinn took a sip of her drink, wearily watching. He tapped Lux on the shoulder.

“A minute of your time?” he said.

Lux nodded, suddenly turning serious as she excused herself from the table, leaving behind a half eaten slice of cheesecake on her plate.

Janna was in a foul mood, and Akali was in conversation with Miss Fortune and Caitlyn – something about Ionian versus Piltovian manufactured bras – so Quinn figured it was as good of a time as any to attempt a conversation with Irelia. The two of them hadn't spoken before, though they'd seen each other on a few occasions.

“Irelia? Is something wrong?” Quinn said when a dark look crossed the woman's face.

Irelia stared at the empty seat beside her for a moment. “I was hoping Syndra would come,” she finally said. “I asked her to, but I guess she doesn't care...”

“Syndra? You mean the Dark Sovereign – that crazy strong, evil mage?”

Irelia scowled. “She's not a bad person. Her powers may be dark and – and, yes, dangerous, but she only has her reputation because people treat her that way.”

“You're on talking terms with her?”

“Yes – and don't sound so surprised. She's not like a Voidborn, or Shadow Islander. She's human – or was. If she'd had a little better of an upbringing, she'd be just like you or me.”

“I see,” Quinn said. “Well, don't worry about it. It's the Freljord banquet – she doesn't have any ties to the nation, so you can't blame her for not caring about it.”

Irelia sighed.

Quinn's attempt at reassuring the Ionian had apparently failed, and she moved to a topic that was much overdue.

“Irelia,” she said. “I've been meaning to ask you about the Unwilling Passengers.”

The woman's eyes shone with interest, her mood changing in an instant. “You've fought them before, haven't you?”

Quinn nodded.

“Then you can tell – their souls are still there, trapped and helpless.”

It was true. If she closed her eyes, she would probably be able to see the tears and blood dripping from their terrified eyes. Because of their humanoid nature, they were easily ranked as the worst foe Quinn had ever fought.

“I was wondering about them. Their capabilities, and their motives – if they have any,” Quinn said. “Janna explained them to me a little bit, but I feel like I'm missing something.”

“Missing something? They're pretty straightforward.”

“She said they open portals in the wake of tornadoes.”

“And sometimes other natural disasters,” Irelia added. “Anything that makes the environment less stable.”

“That's it? No exceptions?”

“Such as?”

Quinn hesitated. She knew what she had experienced, but would Irelia believe her? “Like a portal opening up near someone in a forest, and an Unwilling Passenger trying to drag that someone through into their dimension.

Irelia gasped. “Did that happen to you? Then, it's true?”

“What's true?” Quinn said, irritated.

“Did this happen recently? And you fought them before that, didn't you?”

“Yes. Now could you please explain?”

“Did they ever hurt you? Cut you, make you bleed?”

Quinn touched her stomach. “I still have the scar.”

Irelia fist pumped. “Proof!”

“Of what?”

“Unwilling Passengers never attack places inhabited by humans. It's always in between settlements, so they never meet any real resistance. Because of that, nobody – aside from you, now – has ever been hurt by an Unwilling Passenger and survived. On a few occasions, there's a rumour someone fought them and escaped alive, but shortly afterwards, they go missing.”

Quinn had nearly went 'missing', too.

“And since their numbers never seem to be decreasing, no matter how many of them Janna kills, the horde needs to be restocking itself in some way.”

Quinn looked around for a garbage can. She had eaten too much, and throwing up at the table wouldn't make a good impression on anyone present. “So I'm an incomplete job,” she said. “They want to bring me back to their dimension, tear my heart out, break my jaw, and sew my mouth shut.”

Irelia nodded, her happiness at odds with Quinn.

“That doesn't explain why they don't just kill me,” Quinn said, trying to find another explanation, like that the Unwilling Passengers just wanted to show her their dimension, share some tea, and reminisce about their battle in the swamp.

“They kill enough already – the ones who don’t survive their attacks. A dead person can't become one of them. You know how it is, don't you? When someone dies, their soul leaves forever. The Unwilling Passengers – their souls are trapped in their body, and they're left a small measure of control – eye movement, generally. You can think of it as a disease, or – or weeds that grow over the soul, restricting its abilities.”

“And so they're going to keep trying to kidnap me? How can they even know where I am?”

“You've been marked,” Irelia said simply. “Your scar isn't a normal scar.”

“If I've been marked, why wasn't it ever detected? I was tested for dark magic multiple times since I arrived in Senta.”

“It's not dark magic, though. It's more like an anchor. Dimensional magic isn't something that's well understood, but it's not inherently dark, and as long as it's done properly, nor is it dangerous.”

“Yes,” Quinn said, bitterness slipping into her voice. “Passengers leaping out at me from portals certainly isn't dangerous.”

Irelia sighed. “Inherently, I said. Look, I'm sorry you've been caught up in all of this – but don't let it go to waste. This is an opportunity. If we can reverse engineer the anchor magic, then we'll have access to the Unwilling Passengers' dimension, and from there, we'll stand a lot better of a chance curing them.”

It was easy for her to say, Quinn thought. Living, while knowing she had some mysterious, magical connection to another dimension? It didn't appeal to her. Sure, she wanted to explore the world, and those places beyond it, but she would forgo a dimension of zombies in favour of one with fields of flowers, any day.

“Then why have they only tried once?” Quinn said. “Why don't they just do it tonight, when I'm sleeping?”

“That's more to do with dimensional magic. The Unwilling Passengers are only so powerful, and opening a portal near people, without the help of a natural disaster, is difficult. You were alone when it happened, right? As long as you're around other people, the resistance will be too great for them to attack. Not to mention, it’s too demanding of a task to do it again so soon.”

It was in line with Karma's tasseomancy, though Quinn knew she shouldn't put too much stock in divination.

She stood up, and Irelia watched her questioningly.

“I'm going to grab a drink at the bar,” she explained, though really she just wanted to distance herself from the problem.

Alcohol wasn't handled conventionally, at the banquet. Waiters could take orders for simpler drinks, if the champion didn't mind waiting, but the bar had stools to sit at, for those who wanted a different atmosphere, and the bartender mixed the drinks and served them directly, for the impatient, or simply those who knew they would be wanting immediate refills. Still, most champions preferred socializing at the tables, where the lighting was better and the food and companyplentiful.

When she sat at the bar, she didn't know what she wanted, but the bartender didn't bother her. He continued wiping the already-clean counter, a repetitive action that he probably could have done for the rest of the night, without stopping or becoming bored.

Someone sat next to Quinn.

“I never found it again.”

“It?” Quinn said, looking up to see Ashe's tired face.

Ashe ordered a drink, and they waited in silence as the bartender prepared it. When he was done and pushed it across the counter to Ashe, she slid it over to Quinn.

“It's good,” Ashe reassured her, before returning to the original subject. “I had searched and searched, rappelled down ravines and climbed mountains, dragged out expeditions and nearly lost men in blizzards. It's like it never existed.”

Quinn took a sip of the drink. It was rum based, and largely diluted by water and ice.

“Freljord specialty. What do you think?”

“It's okay,” Quinn said.

Ashe ordered one for herself, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping at their drinks. Nobody interrupted them, but a few champions passed by on their way to get more liquor. They collected more than enough stares to feel uncomfortable, but Quinn found herself caring less and less, as she continued tending to her drink.

“We didn't dream it,” Quinn finally said.

“No, we didn't.”

“And there was no wonky space-bending magic involved,” she continued, more confident with this statement than the previous.

Ashe didn't respond. She must have been expecting a conclusion – something to justify her failures and successes – but Quinn wasn't going anywhere with what she was saying.

“But it was there when we needed it,” Quinn said slowly, a full minute later. “And if you ask me, it doesn't feel right to go there again – not intentionally, not when we don't need it. If an earthquake shifted the earth and buried the place forever, I would be fine with it. As heavenly as it seemed, we were kids – easily awed. I wouldn't want to go searching for it and find it, only to discover it's not like I remember.”

Ashe didn't respond, and instead finished her drink with several determined gulps.

Quinn finished her drink a short while later, and wordlessly, Ashe ordered them both another. A S _talactite_ , she'd heard Ashe call it. Quite fitting, as it stabbed at her throat on the way down like cold icicles.

She wouldn't complain, though. Maybe alcohol would serve as a good escape – that was the reason she'd moved from the table to the bar, no? And it seemed to be social convention, at the banquet, to drink as much alcohol as one could. Since it was closed to the public, the champions were acting more brazen than usual – as she'd seen first hand, on multiple occasions – and she had no reason to be any different.

“Thank you,” Ashe said, as she passed over the second drink.

It struck her as funny, Ashe thanking her when it should have been the other way around, but then she realized it might have been continuation of their earlier conversation. Quinn had given her a satisfactory answer, perhaps.

“It's funny how quickly I was willing to let my life change,” Ashe said. “Because of you, I didn't have to marry a stranger. I was able to meet and fall in love with a man on my own accord. To know that I almost missed out on something like that, and how easily I was willing to let it pass – well – it's terrifying. But that's life, isn't it? So all I can really say is thank you.”

Quinn nodded.

“Who would've thought we'd both be here, seven years later?” Ashe said, cupping her glass.

“Definitely not me,” Quinn chuckled. She'd taken a wrong turn somewhere in life, to end up at the League of Legends, hunted by zombies.

“I don't know if you know already, but I'm engaged to Tryndamere.”

Did Quinn know? She didn't know if she knew. Now she did.

Ashe now turned to face her. “We aren't getting married anytime soon, because of the instability of Freljord and... well, this might be presumptuous of me, but you'll come to the wedding, won't you? I know you had forgotten all about me, but I didn't get along very well with the other children of the tribe, because of my family's status, and so I really enjoyed the time we spent together, and now – I don't know if you believe in fate or not – but here we are, drinking in the Institute's banquet hall.”

“Sure, I'll come,” Quinn said, almost feeling sorry for Ashe.

The woman smiled, before looking back towards all the tables.

“People probably think we're talking politics,” Ashe said, her distaste obvious. “It's always politics this politics that, but sometimes it's nice to unwind and forget about things, isn't it?”

“Sure.”

“We should hang out later, away from this kind of crowd. You know – not as champions, but just as two women who have seven years of catching up to do.”

“Yeah,” Quinn nodded, thankful that Ashe was probably already tipsy enough to not notice her apathy.

  


It wasn't long after Ashe returned to the Freljord table that the vacant seat next to her become occupied once again.

Clutching her long, pointed witch's hat, a Yordle clambered up onto the stool. Her skin was only a shade paler than Soraka's, and she was humming a chaotic, yet happy tune as she wiggled around on the stool, searching for a comfortable position. Once that was complete, she looked around at her surroundings and frowned, as though it wasn't where she had expected to find herself. The frown disappeared just as quickly as it had shown, and she took her hat off and set it on the counter.

“Purple,” Lulu told the bartender.

The man hesitated at the casual, yet confident order, and stared at her for a few seconds. She didn't elaborate. With an audible sigh, he began mixing a drink. His actions were disordered as he reached for different bottles, setting some aside upon reflection, and ultimately mixing a handful of liquids that turned out purple. He passed it over and then busied himself with cleaning up the mess he'd made, but it was obvious his attention was still focused on the Yordle.

Lulu placed a finger on the rim of the glass, and traced along it counterclockwise three times. It made a pleasant ringing sound, and when the sound finally quieted, she took a generous gulp of the drink.

“Yup,” she announced. “That tasted purple.”

The bartender looked absurdly proud with himself, and it made Quinn crack a grin.

“Another purple,” Lulu said, before casting a glance towards Quinn. “For the purple.”

Quinn ran a hand through her hair, holding back a sigh. Had a Yordle just ordered her a mysterious drink? At least with Ashe, it was safe. Maybe she should follow Vessaria's lead, and dye her hair brown.

“You're the Quinn named Demacian, aren't you?” Lulu said.

With every passing second, she questioned her life's decisions.

“I'm Quinn, yes,” she responded.

“And a tulip?”

“I – uh-”

The bartender passed her a replica of Lulu's drink, an expression of pity and entertainment on his face. Quinn took the drink and didn't wait. A cautious sip revealed a fruity flavour, and she quickly took another sip. Watermelon wasn't purple, but that's what she tasted, and it wasn't bad. The cocktail was much easier to down than Ashe's Stalactite, so she drank without restrain. Besides, a loose tongue would help the upcoming conversation.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?” Lulu said.

“Yes,” Quinn said, thankful for the coherent question.

“Did the horse have horseshoes?”

“Yes.”  
Lulu nodded to herself, apparently satisfied. “I thought so. And tulips above horses? Forever?”

Quinn eyed her drink. Had she already had too much? If she hadn't already met Ziggs, she would be questioning her sanity, but instead, she was questioning the sanity of the Yordle race.

“Yes,” she said, testing the waters.

“Because they were moving and flowering. I will see, too.”

“Are you sure?”

“If tulips weren't, I would be concerned.”

“Alright,” Quinn said, feeling she was getting the hang of things. “But if tulips were?”

“Haven't you heard?”

The bartender was not-so-subtly watching them, his face twisted in confusion. Quinn's conversational ability was top notch, and it was her turn to feel proud.

“Killing is bad,” Lulu said.

“It's not good,” Quinn conceded.

Hopefully she hadn't just invited Lulu to kill someone. Prince Jarvan had explicitly requested them not to start a world war.

Lulu finished the rest of her drink in silence, grabbed her hat, and hopped off her chair.

“Goodnight, friend,” she said as she left the bar.

Had that just been her easiest, or hardest, conversation of the night? It might have been time to call it quits, before the alcohol really did any damage.

Only a couple minutes later did Quinn and the bartender realize the complication Lulu had left behind. A purple, four winged moth was fluttering around inside her empty glass. They stared at it in disbelief.

“A faerie?” the man said.

Quinn leaned forward and looked down into the cup. The moth had a purple, humanoid body with small arms and legs, and yes, the moth was probably not a moth at all. It was probably a faerie named Pix, happily drinking up the remnants of the purple drink still coated on the glass.

As Quinn finished her purple drink, she became surrounded. On her left, Nidalee took a seat, not paying any attention to her. On her right, at the exact same time, Tristana climbed up onto the stool and sat. They didn't order drinks, and the silence was foreboding. It felt like her personal space was being invaded.

Quinn pushed her empty glass away, and moved to stand up, but it was then when Tristana and Nidalee simultaneously turned to her. Even if she hadn't seen them talking outside, earlier, she would have known something was up.

“Quinn,” Tristana said, offering her hand. “We haven't had the opportunity-”

The Yordle yelped, quickly withdrawing her hand and bailing off the stool. In a heartbeat, she and Nidalee were gone, and Quinn was left sitting in shock – and slightrelief – at being abandoned so suddenly.

“The League hasn't always had such high standards,” a hard voice said.

Quinn turned, blinking a few times in the face of the new arrival, who had scared off the Yordle and shapeshifter. Sejuani wasn't as tall and imposing, up close, as when she was standing at the front of the room talking in a commanding voice or when she rode Bristle into battle on the Summoner's Rift, but that wasn't to say she looked weak – her tight set jaw and perpetual frown made her look ready for a fight to break out at any second. She wasn't wearing her helmet, but she was donned in the rest of her battle-worn dark silver armour.

“You know Demacia isn't going to support Ashe,” Sejuani continued. “I don't know what kind of relationship you have with her-”

“I don't,” Quinn interrupted.

“-but she's a pushover. She's weak, and if Demacia crawls out of their shell, they'll see their only choice is me. You drink that?” Sejuani suddenly said, pointing to the mug that once held Stalactite. “I can smell it from here – that's _their_ drink. It's weak. You shouldn't be drinking such a girly drink, if you want people to take you seriously. Bartender, two Gelid Estates, please.”

He must have been prepared for the order, because he was reaching for the bottle of rum before she'd even finished speaking. Apparently, sitting at the bar was an invitation for people to order her drinks – perhaps it was a thing with League banquets, and she wished someone would have warned her.

Sejuani took her drink, grimaced as she took a large sip, and then slammed it down on the table, sloshing the drink and spilling some of it. Quinn was a little more cautious of the whole affair, taking a small sip of first – the drink was warm, undiluted by water, and had a hint of honey and nutmeg. The higher concentration of rum in the drink made her think it was the kind of drink Gragas, Jax, and Sarah liked.

“I suggest you think carefully about Freljord's situation,” Sejuani said.

“It has nothing to do with me.”

“You're wrong. Prince Jarvan listens to you, and the king listens to him. Indirectly, you could influence Demacia's decision. And there's at least one other advisor to the king who supports Winter's Claw. The king can be convinced – it's no matter to take lightly.”

Sejuani left a short while later, much to Quinn's relief. She didn't want to think about Freljord at all. It was certainly no matter to take lightly, and for her, it shouldn't have been a matter to take at all. The politicians, magicians, and patricians of Demacia should be the ones to worry about it, she told herself. Not some farmer turned soldier turned champion.

A gentle tap on the shoulder made her turn around.

“I've been watching you,” Lux said, swaying slightly on the spot before finding a seat on a stool. “You – you've got all these pretty girls approaching you, and you're forgetting about us.”

“ _Us_?” Quinn said, quickly forgetting the dilemma which Sejuani had brought her.

“Come back to the table to drink. I don't like there being nobody between me and Akali.”

“Oh. Right.” She hopped off her stool, sparing one last glance at the faerie in a cup. It didn't seem to be going anywhere any time soon, and the bartender kept giving it nervous, troubled glances. “Let's go, then.”

It was probably for the best. If the pattern were to continue, Lissandra would be sitting next to her in a few minutes, forcing her to drink some five century old rum that incinerated her internal organs.

  


It was only when she returned to the table that the enormity of her situation hit her. The alcohol helped make her more receptive to the facts, of course, but it was still ludicrous. She was the child of a farmer and a baker. From nothing, with nothing, she had somehow made it into a room with the most powerful people on Runeterra, and she was supposedly one of them.

In reality, she wasn't. She was a fake, who had caught the prince's eye, and then who had visited Door of Acceptance on a good day – it had all been a fluke, and completely undeserved.

She was sitting with nobles, princesses, vampires, undead, with the most beautiful women she had ever seen, and the ugliest of men, and angels – from both ends of the spectrum – and with mythical, monstrous beings that shouldn't even have existed. She had seen a faerie for the first time ever, and in mere minutes had accepted the fact that she was drinking at the same counter as one.

The absurdity didn't stop there. An alarmingly large number of the champions present didn't even need sustenance in the form of food, and eating was a luxury – a pastime – for them. Some were probably incapable of becoming inebriated, some were _known_ for their drinking, and others were so dedicated to a cause that they wouldn't indulge in alcohol in the first place.

Jax, the paragon of champions, turned out to be all that was needed to shake Quinn's conviction. He jumped up onto the Ionian table, swinging his lamppost around in the air and causing all the nearby champions to shirk back.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted, pausing only for the loudest burp Quinn had ever heard. “It is time to once and for all determine who among us is the strongest.”

The proclamation earned wary stares from the Summoners, but they didn't move to interfere. They didn't need to. Instead, Master Yi, Varus, and Lee Sin leapt up and wrestled him down.

“Very well,” he shouted in the midst of the struggle. “Three against one is an honourable loss!”

There was nothing honourable about his loss, as far as Quinn could tell. But still, just as quickly as the interruption had arrived, it ended, and Karma hadn't batted an eye during the whole ordeal – maybe it was a commonplace thing, and she had been expecting it and trusting the Ionian men to defuse the situation. Still, Quinn had thought Jax would be able to hold his liquor slightly better, considering he often drank with Gragas.

“Did Taric have anything important to say?” Quinn asked Lux, hoping to ground herself a little better in reality.

“They're all leaving us,” Lux said, her eyes locked on the last chocolate pretzel.

“What?”

“Shyvana has been in the capital for weeks, then the prince and my brother left, and now Fiora is going back to the capital tonight.”

Lux reached for the last pretzel – the chocolate would help cheer her up – but another hand met hers halfway.

“Mine,” Lux said, like a little kid.

Sarah glared at her. “Clearly not. If it was yours, we wouldn't be in a standoff.”

“A standoff?” Lux said, her eyes sparkling.

“Let's settle this cleanly,” Sarah backtracked. “A coin toss – heads, I win, tails, you lose.”

Lux nodded vigorously, the idea of a fair game clearly appealing to her. “Alright. Let's do this.”

Sarah fished out a Demacian gold coin from her pocket. She flipped it into the air, caught it, and slapped it down on the back of her hand.

“Heads,” she said, revealing it with a smile. “The pretzel is mine.”

“No! That was rigged,” Lux said. “Again! You – you flipped it wrongly. Let me flip the coin.”

Sarah handed the coin over. “Go ahead, then.”

Lux flicked it into the air, and missed catching it by several inches. It fell to the table, where she stared at it dumbly.

“Tails... I lose?” she finally said. “Dammit, the coin is rigged. Fine, I didn't want the stupid pretzel.”

“I don't think the coin is the problem, here,” Akali whispered.

Sarah reached for the pretzel, but a loud shout at the front of the room saved Lux from the distress of watching it being eaten.

“Who did it?”

The words echoed through the room and everyone stopped what they were doing. At the front of the room, Sejuani roared. This earned much more reaction than Jax's stunt.

“I said, _who did it?_ ” she yelled.

Vessaria was the quickest to move, closing the distance to Sejuani before any of the other Summoners, but in seconds the rest followed suit, subtly forming a wall between the Freljordian and the rest of the room. After pacifying her, the group at the front of the room began a hushed conversation. News quickly trickled through champions and Summoners alike, until it reached their table. Someone had stolen Sejuani's helmet.

A large part of the room turned their attention towards the Yordle table. Fizz stood up, raising his hands in the air with the most innocent look a fish-boy could make. He was empty handed, and there wasn't anywhere he could hide a helmet.

“Wait a second,” someone said. “Fizz isn't a Yordle – what's he even doing at their table?”

“Wukong, where's Wukong?”

“He's already left. What about one of the Freljordians? Trundle is cunning-”

“No, he's stupid – and you're stupid – they're allies. I bet it was one of the Summoners. Nobody notices them.”

“They notice each other, though. It had to have been someone invisible. Is Evelynn still here?”

“What would she want with Sejuani's helmet?”

“What would anyone want with her helmet?”

Gradually, the chatter died down and people returned to their desserts, but the crowd at the front of the room didn't dissolve, and there was still a little more excitement in the room, as if they had been waiting for something big like the theft to happen.

Lux giggled, and though she couldn't have had anything to do with Sejuani's missing helmet, it still concerned Quinn.

“Why are you so happy?” Quinn whispered.

“Because I won,” she said. Below the table, and out of sight, she showed Quinn a gold coin, before pocketing it.

Sarah was eating her pretzel, oblivious to her loss.

Conversation flowed easily as the night drew on. As was hinted towards earlier, the topic made its way to relationships, and Quinn shrank back in her seat, hoping nobody would ask her any questions. She had killed men, but never kissed them. Never even came close. As a runaway, survival had always been a higher priority than falling in love, and she'd seen how unpleasant men could be, over the years.

She had never really thought about it, but if she had to choose, well, there were plenty of beautiful women sitting at the table who she wouldn't have any problem with. But being slightly inebriated at a banquet for champions – on the outset of a tournament to determine the queen of a foreign land – was not the place to begin questioning her sexuality. For now, being friends with beautiful women sounded like a beautiful idea.

“What about you, Karma?” Sarah said. “How does it work, being the Duchess of Ionia? Are you just going to be handed some guy and told to deal with it, or are you doomed to a life of maidenhood, or something?”

“Though the council and my advisors discourage relationships, they will not get in the way of love,” Karma said, taking the question in stride. “That being said, I've yet to find a suitable man. Speaking of which, Caitlyn, Piltover's citizens have been expressing a desire for their sheriff to marry. Supposedly, a petition was making the rounds, recently. Surely you have no end of potential suitors?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “That's not something I can think about right now, if ever. It's not really my position that's so troubling, but one of my co-workers has been a handful, and I'm really focusing on keeping things together, at the moment.”

“A shame.”

“One of your coworkers... a handful?” Sarah said, a grin crossing her face. “Vi – you're talking about Vi!”

“No,” Caitlyn said. “I really don't want to talk about her. I was expressly trying _not_ to, so please, tell us how your love life is going, Sarah – but before that – how many have you had?”

“Men?”

“Drinks.”

“I don't count,” Sarah said, idling flicking her glass.

“Fine then, neither do I,” Caitlyn said, waving over the nearest waiter.

No one suggested that trying to match Sarah's drinking would end in disaster, but that might have been because it was too obvious. Caitlyn’s determination to remain on the road to self-destruction was almost admirable.

  


Quinn wasn't watching the time, so she was surprised when the room gradually began emptying out.

The crash of a dish falling to the ground made her abandon her next bite of food.

Two tables over, two women were standing up. On opposite sides of the table, they glared at each other. The tension was palpable, and it looked like at any second, one of them would clamber over the table to strangle the other. Leona wore a sparkling gold dress, and Diana held her moonblade – a curved, scimitar-like sword. There was no question who would win, if it came to blows, but the two women showed a surprising amount of restraint.

Leona broke eye-contact first, nodding towards the nearest exit. Before she could even finish the action, Diana was striding towards the door. Leona quickly followed after her, but no Summoners elected to follow. Everyone remained silent as they watched the two rivals exit the building. When the door slammed shut after their departure, the room once again lost interest and the champions returned to their almost empty platters of chocolate and other desserts.

Akali leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “So, is it just me, or were they more agitated than usual?”

“I honestly can't tell if it's sexual tension,” Sarah said, pausing to lick her doughnut, “murderous intent, or what, but those two need to sort out their problems.”

“Maybe both,” Karma observed.

“That's kinda hot,” Caitlyn said.

“Reminds me of another couple that's always bickering,” Sarah said, purposefully eyeing Janna and Irelia. “I wonder if they’re in the same boat.”

Irelia snorted. “Please.”

“No,” Janna said, smirking. “Irelia's too busy trying to woo a witch-”

“And this is why you have no friends. Oh, no, wait, it's actually because you've betrayed them all,” Irelia shot back.

“Better a traitor than dead,” Janna said, standing up.“Now, I do believe it's getting late – and some of us actually need a full night’s sleep. I shall be leaving first.”

It only occurred to Quinn after the first member of their table left, but the sound of the piano was much different than it had been an hour ago. Rather than an elegant melody, it was mismatched notes and chaos – there was no attempt at finding a rhythm, and instead the goal seemed to be making something worse than Zaun's anthem. Surprisingly, it was still Evelynn seated at the plush stool in front of the piano. It seemed nobody had the heart to tell her how far she'd fallen. Or maybe nobody cared enough.

The Yordle table was virtually unchanged, but looking about the room, there were other, obvious differences from how the place had been earlier.

The Demacian table was quiet, lacking Prince Jarvan, Garen, Lux, Fiora, and herself. Vayne was now sleeping, slumped against Sona, her head resting on the woman's shoulder. Sona didn't seem to mind, as she ate small bites of food from her plate.

Despite the terrible piano playing, Sona still spent half her time studying Evelynn. Quinn wasn't musically inclined, so maybe there was something pleasant about the sound – a hidden structure it obeyed, or a melody that still existed, drowned out by stray notes. In either case, a faint smile played across Sona's face as she adjusted her position so Vayne wouldn't slip off her and fall to the ground.

“Ow.” Lux tugged on her shoulder. “Quinn, I cut my finger.”

She held it up. True to her word, a bead of red was forming at the tip of her index finger.

“You need to suck the blood away and kiss it better,” Lux said.

“Ask Vladimir,” Quinn said when she realized she hadn't misheard Lux's request.

“But he's scary! I want _you_ ,” Lux sang, stressing the last word.

Even with context, it made her heart skip a beat. The words reverberated in her head, and she stared at the droplet of blood on Lux's finger. The red was entrancing – a dark shade, just like her lips – _no_. They were friends, Lux was drunk, and she would probably laugh if she knew what Quinn was thinking.

“No,” Quinn vocalized. “Why don't you just heal it? You can use magic.”

“That's too hard for me,” she said, rotating her finger so the drop of blood wouldn't yet fall. “I'm good at shielding, not healing.”

“Then why didn't you shield your finger and avoid being cut in the first place?”

“Who protects their fingers when cutting brownie?”

“Who cuts their fingers when they're cutting brownie?”

Lux sulked for a minute, before she snatched the cherry off the top of her brownie and ate it – stem included.

Kennen dropped by their table as Lux struggled to eat the cherry, and though Quinn wasn't intentionally eavesdropping, she heard every word of his conversation with Akali.

“Preparations for the you-know-what in you-know-where are done,” he said. “Just need you to tell them the you-know-when.”

“Did you really have to tell me that now?” Akali said, sighing. “Couldn’t take an evening off?”

“I'm done my role.” Kennen balled his tiny fists. “There are much better uses of my talent, and I was against this from the start, but I've done what I needed to do. It's your turn now.”

“Fine. I understand.”

Without another word, Kennen stormed off. He didn't return to the Yordle Land table, but rather he went to the Ionian table, quickly joining Shen in conversation.

“Look,” Lux said, grabbing her attention again. She pulled a cherry stem out of her mouth, and showed Quinn. “I can tie a cherry stem knot with my tongue! See, see? Isn't it sexy? I need these kind of skills, you know, to make up for my lacking in other areas.” She mimed cupping her breasts.

Quinn stared first at the saliva covered stem, and then at Lux's breasts, and when she couldn't think of a response, Akali came to the rescue.

“Okay, Lux,” Akali said, standing up and stepping around Quinn. She took away Lux's wine glass. “I think you've had enough to drink.”

It might have been sexy, or it might have been the alcohol. In either case, Quinn grabbed the beer in front of her – she couldn't even remember when she had ordered it – and chugged as much as she could.

“Tryndamere and Ashe, though. What an unexpected couple,” Akali said, returning to her seat with Lux's wine and pushing it across the table to Sarah, who wordlessly downed the remnants in seconds.

At the front of the room, the Avarosan leader and her fiancé were in deep conversation.

“Surprising?” Quinn said. “Did you know them before they became engaged?”

“No. I did not. But still – they're from different tribes.”

Sarah slammed her wine glass down as though she had just finished chugging a beer. Multiple people at the table winced, but the glass didn't shatter. “Same faction, though. And it's not surprising at all, actually.”

“And why is that?” Karma said, joining the conversation.

Rotating the wine glass between two fingers, Sarah smiled. “Because they share the same dream. Both Tryndamere and Ashe want a united Freljord. They were born into a world where their parents were fierce fighters, yet who were still weary of the never-ending battle, and this rubbed off on their children. It's all they wanted.”

Vessaria, who was making silent rounds of the table, stopped behind Sarah to listen.

“You can only get so far on lust. For a couple to be happy, and for their relationship to last a long time, both partners need to be of the same mind. They need to share the same dreams, or they'll eventually drift apart, no matter how much else they have in common. The physical desire brings them together, and the dream keeps them together.”

“Well said.” Vessaria clapped Sarah on the shoulder, making her jump. “When two people want the same thing, it's only natural they stick together.”

Vessaria walked around the table to Quinn's side, a slight stagger in her step. She locked her eyes on Quinn.

“Quinn,” Vessaria said, setting a hand on her shoulder. “Where's Valor?”

“Is this a drunk Vessaria?” Akali said in wonderment. “High Summoners are immune to the rules – who would've thought?”

Vessaria shushed Akali. “I want you to tell me a story,” she said to Quinn. “The first time you met Valor. What was he?”

“A bird, I would think,” Akali said, grinning.

“Quiet, Miss Foot of the Shadow.”

“Fist,” Akali corrected.

“Mind reading isn't my only specialty,” Vessaria said. “I can turn you into a giant bee, if that's what you want.”

“Not when you're drunk.”

Quinn wondered if Vessaria was really capable of something of such level. She'd seen, first hand, Vessaria's ability to change her own hair colour, but using that magic on someone else, and transforming their entire body, would be much more difficult. And besides, what would happen to the brain and heart – and, more importantly, the soul – if they were shrunk to a bee's size? Would something like that even be reversible?

“I hold my liquor better than anyone at this table,” Vessaria said.

Sarah cleared her throat.

“Better than _almost_ anyone at this table,” Vessaria said. “So unless you want to return to your Order as a giant bee, don't try to smart mouth me.”

“You're the one who called me Foot of the Shadow.”

“Buzz off,” Vessaria said, making a sweeping gesture with her hand.

Akali brought her hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine.”

“Now, where were we?” Vessaria said, turning back to Quinn. “Story. Valor. Was he small? Was he big? How old was he?”

“He was a nestling,” Quinn said. “Fell from a tree, as far as I could tell.”

“Where was this?” Vessaria said, appearing engrossed in Quinn's words.

“The forest near my hometown, in Demacia.”

“Fascinating.”

“Enough mocking Quinn,” Akali said.

“You're jealous, aren't you?” Vessaria retorted. “I approved of Sarah's argument, I converse with Quinn, and I request Caitlyn's assistance, but I have no use for you.”

“Caitlyn's assistance?” Akali said doubtfully.

Vessaria made a point of turning her back on Akali to address Caitlyn.

“Caitlyn,” Vessaria said. “We would like your assistance with solving the theft of Sejuani's helmet.”

“Yes, yes, very well,” Caitlyn said, looking up from her mug. “I can help find the hat. My detective-ing skills are top notch. Have you checked the top of her head?”

Vessaria stared at her.

“Don't worry – I know what you're thinking,” Caitlyn said, raising both hands to ward off the stare. “I can assure you that I did _not_ steal the hat. But I do want to help you find it, and you know, if hats are like glasses, and Sejuani is like old, then maybe she forgot she still has it on her head. So... did you check?”

  


As the night drew to an end, she and Karma stepped away from the table. Looking around the room, most tables were emptier than they had been at the start. The entire Bilgewater table was already cleared, the men ending their night surprisingly early. The only table that was as full and energetic as it had been at the start was the Yordle Land table, which still housed Fizz without any hesitation.

“Thank you for tonight,” Quinn said. “It was an – uh – a valuable experience.”

“You're quite welcome, Quinn. I noticed, aside from Sarah, everyone seems to have taken a liking to you. But what do you think of them?”

“Why does it matter? Does this have something to do with the prophecy? Have you figured it out?”

“Idle curiosity, is all. Each of us could prove useful allies to one another, in the future, and as a new set of eyes, I was simply curious what you thought about the people you ate dinner with, tonight.”

“They're... uh, complicated? You say allies, but there seemed to be a lot of grudges floating about. I can say that much, and I'm not a good judge of people – I hardly even know Lux.”

Karma nodded. “Understanding Lux isn't as hard as you would think, if you have all the information. I recall earlier, you wanted to know about Lux's role in the Noxian invasion. I told you to ask her yourself?”

“I haven't, yet.”

“I shall backtrack on my words, then. Lux seems to be quite taken with you, and though she's a very social girl, she's never had any close friends, so I would like for you to know the entire story – its implications, too – before you become too close to her.”

“No, stop,” Quinn said, the words leaving her lips before she knew it was what she wanted. “I don't want to hear it from you – I'm sorry – but I need to hear it from her. It's only fair – I haven't given her a chance yet.”

“I understand,” Karma said, possibly hiding her disappointment. “And as for the prophecy, you needn't worry about it. Just don't do anything stupid, and everything will be fine. Now, I should return to the table before Caitlyn drinks herself unconscious, trying to match Sarah's alcohol intake. Irelia has also been drinking more so than usual, due to Syndra's absence. It's time to cut them off the booze.”

Once they returned to the table, Quinn immediately checked Lux's plate. It was empty.

“Lux, are you going soon?” she asked.

“Are you?” Lux countered.

“Yeah. There's – uh – there's something I wanted to show you.”

“What?”

“Outside.”

“Is it food and drink? An after party?” Lux said. “I'm ready, let's go. And we'll talk the night away!”

“Talking is fine,” Quinn said.

Initially, she had intended on going alone. Taking Lux along was a spur of the moment decision, aided by the alcohol, but she didn’t regret it. The night wasn’t yet over.


	25. Tau Symphonids

The roads turned from stone to dirt, and the scenery from buildings to fences and large, empty fields. Lux followed behind her at an irregular pace, slowing down and then suddenly speeding up, and it made Quinn begin to second guess the excursion. If Lux was so unsteady on her feet, it might have been better to take her home, instead. Even she was feeling lightheaded, having drank a little more than anticipated.

“Where are you taking me?” Lux said. “If you wanted to take me somewhere with no witnesses and kill me, you could've just done that at my house – or yours.” Lux gasped, and then brought a hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her giggles. “You're homeless! I forgot it wasn't just me that went boom. Don't worry, though, I'll take you in.”

Quinn took larger strides, increasing her distance from Lux, but the girl took it as a challenge, and broke into a run.

“You can be my maid,” Lux shouted, chasing after her. “I'll pay well!”

As soon as the fence changed from wattle to simple horizontal logs, Quinn veered off the road and jumped it.

“I wouldn't be a good maid,” she said, turning around to rest her elbows on the fence.

“You wouldn't need to be,” Lux said, stopping in front of her.

“My place back in Demacia must have a centimeter of dust layering the floor.”

“They gave you much too big of a place for you to keep clean on your own,” Lux said, creating a small floating light with a wave of her hand. “But it didn't work.”

“What didn't work?”

Lux took a step back, eyed the wooden posts blocking her path, and then put her foot on the lowest of logs, before clumsily swinging her other leg over. As she cleared the top, it became apparent she was in for a fast descent, and Quinn preemptively reached out. Lux didn't notice the gesture, and when she lost her balance, she stumbled into Quinn'sarms.

The light that had been hovering patiently above her winked out, and they became shrouded in darkness. Quinn couldhear Lux’s breathing, and feel the warm breath on her neck, and the scent of Lux’s hair, and rather than ask if Lux was okay, she was content to simply hold the girl. It was more of an awkward support, than a hug, but the contact was pleasant and comfortable.

For too long, Quinn had been deprived of physical contact – the deathlike grip of the Unwilling Passenger the other day not counting– yet today she had felt human more than she had in weeks. Gragas, an exception, maybe, but there was Ashe’s hug, and even the conversations she’d had in the past few hours had given her insight into what a normal life might have been like. So maybe it was okay to savour the moment, because she wouldn't ever know when the next time might come.

Humans were social creatures. Not as much as Yordles, who needed constant social interaction, but a human who'd forgotten the touch of their parents, friends, and lovers would find that insanity wasn’t far to follow. They were, as the saying went, out of touch with humanity.

Lux took her time to pull her weight off Quinn, but they were both somewhat inebriated, so the slow reaction didn’t bother Quinn.

“Buying your loyalty,” Lux whispered, answering Quinn's earlier question. She stepped away and looked out into the field. “Isn't this trespassing?”

Quinn swallowed, and shook her head. “It's just a field, nobody will care. Besides, we can run if we're seen.”

“You can run. I've had enough of that. I'll just hide myself with magic.”

“No fair. Can't you just hide both of us?”

“But you don't like magic.”

“I don't mind yours.”

Lux took another step into the field, reigniting her orb of light. “Oh?”

“Well – I mean – not as much. I can put up with a little bit of it, if it's to save me from a farmer with a pitchfork.”

The perfect location was only a few minutes’ walk from the road. It was a small grassy mound, which offered a three hundred and sixty degree view of the sky and the surrounding field.

During the few steps to the top of the hill, she was reminded of her childhood. There had been a small hill behind the school, much like this one, though as children the hill seemed much larger. During the summers, they would play king of the hill, pushing each other off and enacting dramatic death scenes as they rolled down the slope. At the start of winter, it became the tobogganing hill, and when the snow began to melt, they would pour water on it, and it would become a slippery, insurmountable monster to fight in between classes.

“What's wrong?” Lux said.

Quinn looked around. She had been standing stilltoo long. “Here,” she said. “This works.”

“I still don't get it. What are we doing?” Lux said. “Stargazing?”

“Something like that.”

The grass was dry, but still, Lux was wearing a dress, so Quinn took off her jacket and laid it on the ground for her to sit on. Making an unnecessary comment about chivalry, Lux sat down. It took them a minute or two to get comfortable, but they couldn't have stumbled across a better place. The grass was short and thick, and the hill had no rocks or bumps, making it easy to quickly find a relaxing position on the incline. If she had any complaint, it was the cold breeze, but that came hand-in-hand with the perfect view of the night sky.

“Is this what you wanted to show me? I've seen the stars before, you know. I've spent enough nights under the open sky.”

“I know,” Quinn said.

The answer placated Lux for only a second, before her mood turned sour and she glared at Quinn.

“Ashe hugged you,” she accused. “She gave you something, too. I was trying to be good. I didn't want you to think I was nosy – but then you two were drinking together at the bar. There's something more between you two, and I want you to tell me.”

“Right jacket pocket,” Quinn said.

Lux pulled out the Nadir coin, frowning. “It's doing something,” she said. “It feels soft. Why did she give you this?”

“I guess you could say it was originally mine. There's not much to tell. After she pulled me out of the blizzard, I found this artifact, and gave it to her as compensation for saving my life.”

“Do you like her?”

Quinn hesitated at the sudden question. Would it be a problem, for a Demacian to be friends with one of the Freljordian princesses? Ashe had already hugged her in front of a bunch of reporters, which Lux didn't seem happy about it, and they had probably looked like good friends at the banquet, to whoever was watching. The independent champions of the League had it much easier.

“You aren't answering,” Lux said, plucking grass out of the ground, one piece at a time. “Do you _like_ like her?”

“No.”

“Good. She's not all that great, y'know. A princess, sure, but she said they would announce High Summoner Irvine's death, andthey didn’t. She was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Do you _like_ like anyone?”

“Why don't you just say love?”

“Because that’s a powerful word,” Lux said. “A dangerous, complicated, word.”

“Fine. Whatever. The answer is no. Are you going to ask me about Lulu and Sejuani, now?”

“Sejuani wanted to talk politics,” Lux ventured.

“Yeah,” Quinn conceded.

“And Lulu, well, no, I don't want to ask you about her. Our first meeting, she gave me a pet rock named Lucifer. It's still on my kitchen counter, and I have no clue what to do with it, but I know not to ask any questions.” Lux rubbed her stomach. “Kitchen. Mm. They really went all out with the food. Weren't those truffles were the best?”

“I didn't have any,” Quinn said.

“What? Why not?”

“Valor can hunt truffles. One of my most memorable meals was when Valor first found truffles at the bank of the Serpentine river. We bought meat, cheese, and spices from the river people and, to this day, I think that was the best supper I’ve ever eaten. If I had any truffles tonight, it would...”

“Tarnish.”

Quinn nodded. “It would tarnish that memory. And that's something I wouldn't ever want to do. At the very least, I think truffles are a food I could only enjoy if I found them myself.”

“So Valor is your truffle hunting pig?”

“He's a lot of things,” Quinn said, reclining on the hill.

And since becoming a champion of the League, they had been slowly drifting apart. Was there something she could do – something she should do? Or were Demacian eagles always meant to do their own thing? Just because Valor wasn't always at her side didn't mean they wouldn't always be friends.

She would need to have a good conversation with him, soon.

“It's beautiful,” Lux whispered, head tilted upwards. “One, two, three, four.”

“You can't count them all.”

“I know, I know. Fix. Six. Seven? I've tried so many times.”

“I have too. I can never really tell if I've counted the same star once or five times, though, so at some point I usually just give up.”

Lux hummed in agreement. “It's a losing battle. So you _did_ bring me out here to stargaze.”

“No.”

Lux waited a moment, but Quinn didn't offer any further explanation.

“Liar,” she accused.“You shouldn't lie. You have a reputation to uphold.”

“As an uncivilized rural girl.”

“Yes.”

“Excuse me?” Quinn said, half sitting up. “I was joking, there.”

“But it's not really a joke, you know,” Lux said, still staring intently up at the stars. “I think I've just realized something, though.”

“And what is that?”

“I don't know why I assumed, before I met you, but I guess it was kinda silly of me, since you're obviously so out of touch with others-”

“You're not making sense, so I'm just going to chalk this up to you having drank too much,” Quinn interrupted, laying back down.

“Just wait a minute, I'm going somewhere with this.”

“Fine.”

A few seconds passed as Lux idly plucked more blades of grass out of the ground. “Um. What was I saying?”

“Being out of touch with others.”

“Oh, right. Right. I think it might be rude of me to assume-”

“Rude? Never.”

“You interrupted again.”

“Not sorry.”

“But I think you missed some of the importance of your promotion within the military. Internally, the prince and his cohort discussed it a lot, but the king wasn't included in the discussion. He's rigid, in his way of ruling, so maybe they wanted to force the decision on him in the last minute, relying on him simply taking the prince's recommended course of action. You were meant to be a poster child, of sorts.”

Quinn snorted. “I think you're getting us mixed up.”

“No. This is how it is, and I'm more convinced now than ever that you aren't aware of it, and never have been – and you really do lack awareness. Anyways, ninety percent of the kingdom's population lives outside the capital. I don't think I need to be telling you this, but those people live much harder lives, most without hopes or dreams of anything beyond their village, and the discontent keeps growing.

“Noxus is different from us in this way – anyone, born to anyone, can become anything, if they have the necessary qualities. They're a meritocracy. It makes life more bearable, when you know you aren't destined to spend the rest of it doing manual labour in some rundown workshop. In Demacia, there's a good chance you'll never move away from wherever you're born, whether it's the capital or some farming village a hundred kilometers away.”

“But Noxus isn’t a meritocracy, is it?” Quinn said. “I remember reading about something that happened when I was young. People left Noxus. A lot of smart ones, because they disagreed with the council and didn't feel safe.”

Lux nodded. “The Gray Order. You're right, I guess meritocracy isn't the right term. You need to be strong, too – not only good in whatever field you specialize in. Physically strong – or magically – with good survival instincts and maybe a little ruthlessness. But my point remains – Noxians are a happier bunch, because of the potential that they have, from the moment they're born. You've already heard from the prince, both he and my brother are in the capital right now, trying to quell the protests and whatnot. This has been going on for a long time now, growing worse, and you were promoted with the idea of placating them. Giving them a hero of sorts. Someone to look up to, and act as their champion.” She paused to giggle. “Champion. Now literally.”

“So I was used,” Quinn said, ignoring the pun.

“It's politics. We show children they have a chance to grow up to become someone great – even if it's a lie – and we give those who are angry at the imbalance between middle class and upper class a reason to calm down, for awhile. And it was working, until recently. You're a champion of the League now, but you aren't _really_ fighting for Demacia, and everyone's noticing that, and...”

“And what?”

“And I forget where I was going with this.”

Though her words were meandering and confusing, her helpless smile made Quinn immediately forgive her. Did she realize how cute she was, when she did that?

Quinn tried to tie the string of logic back to the start of their conversation. “And my inaction will be interpreted as dissatisfaction with Demacia, causing further discontent, and then riots-”

As she spoke, she realized a terrifying possibility of why the prince had requested _her_ presence back in the capital. If the protests were actually caused by her, then she was responsible for the people who were dying. Unintentionally, she made a statement about the kingdom, and people were listening. Prince Jarvan had come to her, asking her to clean up the mess she had created.

But that simply wasn't possible, was it? It was egotistical thinking. The prince would have been honest with her, if she'd had so much influence that people were dying because of choices she made, half a continent away, which she had thought inconsequential. Still, the discomfort in the pit of her stomach was more likely to be a rapidly growing sense of guilt, than food poisoning.

“That's how it is, isn't it?”

“Maybe,” Lux said.

“That's it, isn't it?” Quinn said. “I'm the cause of the trouble in the capital.”

“Maybe.”

Quinn growled. “Lux.”

“Maybeeee,” Lux hedged.

“Answer my question properly. Does this rebellion in the capital have anything to do with me?”

“It's-” she hesitated. “It's complicated. Nothing's definite.”

“But?”

“There's a lot of factors involved,” Lux sighed, “but the prince thinks so, and my brother, too.”

Quinn stood up and took a couple steps away, down the hill. “Why didn't you tell me this?”

“You've told me before. You have no fealty to Demacia.”

“That's-” Quinn groaned. Different? Was it?

At the base of the hill, she began pacing back and forth, trying to sort out her thoughts.

It was a nasty mess, but she could understand it, because she had once been a commoner – or rather, still was. Years ago, when Caleb was alive, they had dreamt of becoming courageous, loyal knights, and they played in the forest, killing imaginary beasts and saving the people. If someone like Quinn had existed back then, then little-Quinn would almost assuredly have seen her as a role model, and sought to become like her.

Ultimately, however, she came to a simple conclusion. There was no choice to make, and never had been, even if Prince Jarvan had told her the truth in the first place. Valor was her moral compass, and if he wanted to return to Demacia, then she would, and if he didn't see it necessary, then she wouldn't.

No matter how twisted her mind became, from the Summoner's Rift, ambient magic, and ruthless killings, she could rely on Valor to keep her on a true path – a path that wasn't quite a knight's, nor a bandit's, but rather, some middle ground where she wouldn't have to look back on her life with regret.

Even now, she could ask Valor. They could return, if things hadn't calmed down in the capital. The League of Legends was going to be quiet for at least a month, since most matches were cancelled in preparation for the upcoming Freljord tournament. It would be easy to make a round trip to the capital.

“Hey, Quinn?” Lux said.

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“Huh?”

“What do you want out of life? What's your dream? You told me the Door of Acceptance opened for you when you didn't even want it to, but the Door only opens for great people, so I'm confused.”

“You don't think I'm great?” Quinn said, putting on an air of being hurt, and sitting back down next to Lux.

“No, no,” Lux said, bringing her hands out in front of her. “I don't mean that. I think you're amazing – but, well, I don't really get it, and I don't know how to explain it. I guess some people are more amazing in a showy fashion, and then there's people like you and Jax.”

Quinn missed most of what she had said after the first 'amazing'. It would have been nice to hear from a sober Lux, but nonetheless Quinn found herself trying to reevaluate how Lux saw her. She wasn't the most social person, and Lux had plenty of other people, of higher social status, she could have spent time with, so there was something else going on. Maybe this very conversation – the riots in the capital,Demacia's struggle, and Quinn’s intentions – was the reason for Lux’s friendliness.

“I've told you before, haven't I? I want to become a pirate. That’s my dream.”

“But seriously,” Lux whined, before turning serious, herself. “Seriously.”

“There,” Quinn said, pointing up at the night sky. She'd been so wrapped up in the conversation, that it had taken much longer than it should have, but the sky was plenty dark now.

“What?”

“Wait. Another will come.”

They waited. Lux, patiently, Quinn, impatiently. A streak of light crossed the dark sky.

“There. See it?”

“A shooting star,” Lux whispered.

“I always called them falling stars, but yeah.”

“Wait – this is why you wanted to come out here, isn't it?”

Quinn nodded, but Lux wasn't looking at her. “Yeah. It's the Tau Symphonids meteor storm.”

“Huh? Storm? That sounds dangerous.”

“They only call it that because it's particularly strong this year. Every eighty years, the Tau Symphonids shower becomes a storm.”

Four more passed in the next minute. Dashes of white and yellow in the blackness. A fleeting, but eye-catching existence. They watched in silence, Lux inhaling and holding her breath every time she saw one, as though the meteor would be audible in its descent.

“Beautiful,” Lux said, finally pulling her eyes away from the sky. “Why haven't I ever heard about the Tau Symphonids, then?”

“Maybe because your school sucks?” Quinn said.

“What? No it doesn't! My teachers were really smart. None of them could use much magic, but they still taught me everything I know!”

“Teachers? Plural? You only need one good teacher.”

Lux humphed, crossing her arms.

“I'm joking,” Quinn said with a smile. “I think my teacher just really liked the stars, and the constellations. Demacian culture has never put much stock in astrology, but lots of other places have – or did. Ancient Ionia comes to mind, and lots of tribes in Freljord.”

“How many do you think there are?” Lux said.

“Are of what?”

“Stars.”

“Millions. Billions maybe.” Quinn shrugged.

“Makes you feel insignificant.” Lux brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Knowing how small we are compared to even a single star.”

“Stars aren't sentient, though.”

“And is that supposed to make us more important than them?”

“Something like that. Rather, if I want to feel insignificant, all I need to do is think about all the other dimensions that exist, in some unseen space next to ours. There's no way to know how many there are – could be only hundreds, but it seems more likely that there are thousands, or millions-”

“Or infinite.”

“Or infinite,” Quinn agreed. “And it's a little sad, if we're to be born in one dimension, and, having never seen or explored any others, die in that very same place. It's like a nestling growing old, but never leaving its own nest. It'll just die there, none the wiser of the entire world around him.”

Quinn laid down on the ground, shifting her head until the blades of grass didn't prick the back of her neck, and then sighed, reaching up towards the stars.

“You asked me earlier, if I had a dream,” she said.“I would say, maybe, that I'd like to see them all – see everything – but that might be stretching it a little. Maybe, instead, I'd like the _opportunity_ to see them all. I'd like to live forever – to never die – so I don't need to worry about wasting my time doing one thing, or another – and even if I decide not to immediately start exploring every dimension, just knowing that I _can_ , whenever I want to, I think that would be everything I could ever want.”

Lux snickered. “I think the only thing more greedy than that would be if you said you wanted to be the ruler of the universe. Couldn't you have said something a little more normal? Something a little more realistic?”

Quinn bit back a retort. Lux had been drinking, so she shouldn't have expected any better. And maybe it was crazy, but if she had only one life to live, why not reach for the stars?

“An immortal, inter-dimensional treasure hunting pirate,” Lux continued.

“That's one way of putting it.” It sounded good to Quinn's ears. A worthy goal, if there ever was one. “Can you think of a better career?”

“That's seriously what you would want to do? Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“And you thought I had too much to drink.” Lux paused to watch the brightest meteor yet. “You should just enjoy your time alive. Like the bird in the nest – even if he didn't get to explore the world, he could still live a happy, fulfilling life.”

It sounded more like willful ignorance, but Quinn recognized that the direction of the conversation wouldn't benefit either of them, so she searched for another topic. There had been one thing she felt she needed to explain.

“By the way, I'm sorry for disappearing on you the other day,” she said.“At the Meer-Grotte.”

Lux didn't look over, but Quinn knew she was listening closely, now.

“I'm not good with caves,” Quinn said. “It's not claustrophobia, but – I don't know – a combination of the stone walls and being underground, it doesn't do me any good. I – well, you saw me – I freak out.”

“We all have our triggers,” Lux said, sounding distant as she looked back up at the sky.

Quinn was reminded of Lux's outburst the other day, when they were discussing the bomber. Quinn had said she would kill Kaiser, and Lux had vehemently opposed it, and became agitated enough to shout. Lux couldn’t be traumatized by the thought of killing, could she? She was a Demacian soldier, and spy, after all.

“You've killed before, right?” Quinn said.

“Why do you ask?

“Because you don't want me to kill him.”

“Him?”

“K-” She nearly said Kaiser, but that would both mean revealing her information to Lux, and trusting LeBlanc. “The one who put you in the hospital.”

“I have – but what you're talking about is different. Some people deserve death, but the bomber? I don't know. It's not our job to make the decision, either.”

“Whose job is it, then? He could have killed you, and you're completely fine with that?”

Lux turned away. “There's something I want to tell you.”

Quinn's heart skipped a beat.

“It's... not something I like to remember, but I want you to know, so you understand where I'm coming from. And you can't ever repeat this story to anyone – it's technically classified information. Two years ago, I was in Ionia-”

“Stop,” Quinn said, scrambling to sit up. “No. Stop.”

Lux seemed surprised at the command. “Why?”

“If it's classified, you shouldn't tell me.”

“I trust you.”

Quinn almost relented, but it was only for a second, and then she steeled herself, and shook her head. “No. You've been drinking.”

“I'm fine,” Lux insisted. “We've already talked Demacian politics and dimensions and stars and stuff – you don't think I'm thinking clearly?”

“I – I don't want to hear it. Not now. You shouldn't be telling people important things when you're drunk.”

For a second, Quinn thought Lux was going to leave. Her whole body tensed, and her eyes narrowed for a moment.

“Fine, you're right, I am drunk. But it's exactly because I am, that I want to tell you. I – I don't think I'd be able to say it otherwise.”

She needed something else – another excuse – one that would work on Lux.

But Lux wasn't going to wait and let her think. The girl crawled forward on her hands and knees, until she was directly in front of Quinn.

“I want to tell you,” she repeated in a soft whisper.

The sudden proximity, and Quinn's inability to look anywhere else but Lux's face, shut down her thought processes. Intent blue eyes stared her down, and they locked her in place. There was no retreat. For the second time that night, she could feel Lux's warm breath on her skin. There was the faint smell of alcohol, and she could see, by the moonlight, the girl's rosy cheeks, and then a warm breeze blew by and Lux's hair tickled her chin and lips, and she could smell a hint of lavender fragrance.

How drunk was she? How drunk was Lux? Could she close the distance? Reach out, at least, and brush the stray hairs away from Lux's face? Touch Lux's cheek, feel the warmth and softness of her skin, and-

“Me first,” Quinn said, not thinking. “I have something to tell you.”

Lux's eyes widened, and she pulled back a fraction.

“It's going to sound ridiculous,” Quinn said. “But I want you to listen, and I want you to take it seriously. Don't dismiss it as a joke.”

“Okay,” Lux breathed, biting her bottom lip and waiting expectantly.

The orb of light that had been hovering above them, which had slipped Quinn's notice since the moment they had sat down, brightened, until the entire hillside was illuminated. The contrast grew sharper, the shadows on Lux's neck and shoulder more distinct, and even though Quinn needed to squint in the brightness, she didn't divert her eyes. It might have been inappropriate of her, but she couldn't stop staring. Lux's dress revealed more skin than her usual attire, so it was a rare opportunity – especially with them being so close together – and it annoyed Quinn how easily distracted she was by Lux’s beauty.

To any outsiders, they would have looked ridiculous, lit up on a hill, Lux in black dress, practically hovering over Quinn, waiting silently.

Lux’s attentiveness was surprising – it was unsettling how little she blinked – and Quinn wondered if speaking the truth could be a huge mistake. And now that she was committed, she realized how much she valued Lux's friendship, and how much she'd hate to lose it, for sounding like a crazy, delusional peasant.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she reminded herself, taking a deep breath.

“The minions on Summoner's Rift have souls – the other monsters, too – and Thresh is stealing them. His lantern is a portal to another dimension, where he stores all the souls he's collected, and I think it's because of this that he _allowed_ himself to be captured, back in Paz.”

Finally, Lux blinked. “Sorry – what? I zoned out there for a second.”

“What part did you miss, exactly?”

“Um...” Lux hesitated. “All of it?”

Quinn sighed, the tension between them dissipating instantly. “Forget it.”

“No – no – I was just distracted. Say it again. You were thinking about Paz Village?”

“Forget it,” Quinn said, placing a hand on Lux's shoulder.

She had to mentally debate her intentions before she was able to push the girl away and reclaim her own personal space. Lux returned to sitting next to her, albeit much closer than before, so they were nearly shoulder to shoulder. She had, at least, had the decency to look sheepish for her lack of concentration.

For Quinn's part, she decided she wouldn't tell Lux again. Even if everything she said was true, there was no obligation to do anything about it. Like Janna had said, inaction wasn't a sin. Just because she had knowledge of Thresh and his actions, and knowledge of the Institute of War potentially enslaving souls, didn’t mean she had a responsibility to do anything about it.

The souls on the Rift might not have even been sapient – in fact, they probably weren't, and it wasn't even as though Thresh was killing them – they weren't human souls, so they could potentially be freed and return to their own dimensions, without Hel reaching out and grabbing them mid voyage. Nobody was dying – this wasn't like what was happening in Demacia. Vessaria probably knew everything that was going on. She could have had an agreement with the souls, and her own plan, which involved exploiting Thresh in some manner. Things weren't as they appeared – the world wasn't that simple.

Besides, what could Quinn even do? Topple the League of Legends and the Institute of War, just because some unknown souls may or may not have been exploited, captured, or killed? No, it was beyond her abilities to do anything about it. For now, she would forget it. It didn't directly affect her, and if she were to worry about all the small things that were wrong with the world, then she'd quickly go insane. Later, she might tell Valor, and see what he thought about it all, but until then, she would enjoy the night.

  


Sitting on the hill in silence, hours passed. Lux gave up on making Quinn repeat herself, and she completely forgot her own intention to tell Quinn about Ionia. Neither of them brought up the subject of returning to the city – and Quinn decided she wouldn't, so until Lux was done watching the stars, they wouldn't be going anywhere.

Most meteor showers took place over weeks, but the Tau Symphonids was only one day – or rather, night – and it made sure to leave a lasting impression. As the night drew on, the meteor shower became more spectacular than Quinn had imagined possible.

The brightness of the trails left behind in the skies, so far from where they sat, and the sheer quantity of meteors that they saw – none of it amounted to any shower Quinn had seen before. But still, the banquet – all the champions and alcohol and the chaotic atmosphere – had done Quinn in, and her eyelids began to droop.

Star gazing was cathartic – that was the reason Quinn had wanted to watch the meteor shower in the first place – but gradually she began to stare less up at the sky, and instead found herself with eyes closed, listening to Lux's breathing.

  


A bright light woke her. She had somehow fallen asleep, sitting up. When she looked over, she saw the source of the light. It was Lux’s orb of light, floating in front of Lux and bathing her in a glow. In the sky above, the occasional meteor still fell, leaving an incandescent trail across the night sky.

Quinn smiled, staring at the girl sitting on her coat, and then she realized Lux was holding something up to the light, her forehead creased in concentration.

“What're you doing?” Quinn said.

“Why do you have pictures of me?”

The question woke Quinn from her drowsiness. “Pictures? What?”

Lux handed half the stack over. “I found them in your coat pocket. Is there something you want to tell me?”

Quinn flipped through them. Lux entering her house. Lux leaving her house. Lux, in a nightgown, passing by her window. Lux in a restaurant. Lux and Fiora, leaving the Demacian headquarters. Lux and Garen, at the market.

She set the pictures aside, and sighed. “I confiscated these from someone.”

“Confiscated from someone?”

“Just before we met outside your house, earlier today.”

“Likely story.”

“It's true,” Quinn said. “Why else would I have them?”

“Because you bought them? And they probably sold for a premium, too. Don't worry, though. I'll let you keep them.”

“You're so modest when you're drunk.”

“That was, like, two hours ago.” She paused at one of the pictures. “Oh. There's one of you.”

“Me?” Quinn echoed.

“I'm keeping it.”

“Throw it out. We should throw them all out.”

She reached over to take the rest of the stack, but instead of handing the pictures over, Lux took her hand and entwined their fingers.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “You're warm.”

Quinn immediately forgot about the pictures, and was eternally grateful for dragging Lux out to watch the meteor storm.Only a week ago, she had been avoiding Lux and dodging out of surprise hugs from the girl, and now holding her hand was enough to make Quinn happy.

If things had been different – if she was more drunk – then now would have been the perfect time. She could admit to herself that she liked the physical contact for more than it being a human connection – she could admit to herself that it was because it was Lux, she wanted more. She could reach out and touch Lux's cheeks, and wrap her arms around Lux and pull her in closer. To kiss her, and have her kiss back, and in the privacy of the empty field, they could forget about the world – the nations and nobles and political nonsense – and enjoy their time together.

But all of it was a bad idea, and none of it was possible. Lux was a Crownguard, a superior in the army, a powerful mage – and more importantly, a friend. Quinn could count the friends she hadon one hand, and she'd rather cut off a finger than lose one of those friends because of an inappropriate fantasy.

“Sorry,” Lux said, letting go of her hand.

Above them, her light turned off, and they were in the dark again, moonlight the only thing to illuminate the shapes in the darkness. Quinn turned her attention back to the sky to cleanse her thoughts in the space above them, and for a minute, it was all quiet.

“We won't see this again for eighty years?” Lux said.

“If we're still alive.”

“Of course we will be.” Lux reached out to blindly hit Quinn. “Don't be so pessimistic.”

“Okay. And if not, there's other meteor storms. We're sure to see at least one more, before we die.”

“Together?”

Lux sounded so hopeful, and it caught Quinn off guard.

“Sure. Together.”

There was no doubt they were going to spend the rest of the night on the hill under the stars, but Quinn didn’t mind. At some point, when she was half asleep, Lux shuffled closer to her, and though she was too tired to speak, Quinn recognized the scent of Lux’s hair, and then the weight of Lux’s head resting gently on her chest.


	26. Blessedbacks

She woke to what sounded like wind chimes, though it wasn't windy, and then something rough and wet brushed across her face. Instinctively, she pulled away, only to hit her head against something else. She heard a groan, and then from the direction of the wind chimes, a snort, and she opened her eyes just in time to receive a face full of cow spittle. Wiping the slobber away, Quinn found herself face to face with a cow.

“I'm up, I'm up,” Lux groaned, rolling over and rubbing her head.

“Sorry,” Quinn said. “Didn't mean to head-butt you. A cow startled me.”

She took a second to assess her situation – that being, lying in a field with Lux and a cow – and then she sighed, shrugging off the blanket that covered them. It took a second to realize the blanket hadn't been there last night, meaning someone had visited them while they were sleeping. She eyed the blanket warily, before the stench of the animal's breath made her face the more immediate problems.

“Shoo,” Quinn said, waving her arm at the curious cow.

The animal stared at her for a few long seconds, but then lost interest in the battle of wills and stomped off with a derisive swish of its tail. She watched it as it rejoined the rest of its herd and began to graze. They didn't pose a threat, but Quinn was still uneasy. Sleeping on a hill was nowhere near as safe as in a tree – and to do it so close to a city was reckless. Talk about making herself an easy target for an assassin.

Lux sat up a moment later, rubbing her eyes and trying to blink away the sleep. She saw Quinn, offered a tentative smile, and then looked around at their surroundings.

“What are we doing out here?” she finally laughed. “We really stayed out here the whole night?”

Quinn chuckled. “We really did. Though I blame you.”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one nodding off,” Lux said, laying back down and looking up at the sky. “And then we didn't do anything. We just stayed here. All night. It was beautiful. It really was. Blanket,” she said a moment later, noticing the thing draped over her. “Where did you get it?”

“I didn't. It was covering us when I woke up.”

“I guess we were caught,” Lux said, running a hand along the fabric and then looking out to the farm house across the field. “I'll return it.”

She folded the blanket and stood up.

Grass clung to Lux’s back, her hair a mess of gold that, thankfully, no cow had mistaken for hay, the morning sun shone down on them, between the clouds in the sky, and Quinn wanted to hold onto the moment forever. She’d had that thought before, because of Lux.

Was that it, then? They were just going to part ways, and Quinn might not see her for another week? Maybe it was better that way. It would be one less variable in the equation, and there was no way Lux could get hurt by some incompetent assassin, if they kept their distance. Still, Quinn found herself half reaching out for Lux, as she walked away.

“Wait-” Quinn said.

Lux turned around. “Yes?”

“I – uh – nothing. Never mind.”

“With so many Demacians returning to the capital, I think I'm going to spend the day around headquarters. Taric might need assistance. What’re you going to do?”

“The library,” Quinn said.

“Drop by later, maybe, okay?”

The library? Really? Well, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. Being unable to use magic didn't mean she should be ignorant of it.

  


_The Blessedback turtle, sometimes referred to as the flying snapping turtle, originated from the Blessed Isles._

_Their average lifespan is_ _five_ _to_ _six_ _centuries, and only once during a female's life will she lay eggs. She will lay, on average, four eggs. These eggs will be buried at a high elevation, often in the snow. The mother turtle will then abandon her eggs, returning to where vegetation is more abundant. When the young hatch, they must quickly learn to fly, else they will starve at the high elevation, where little food is available._

_Blessedbacks are venomous creatures. Their venom, in small amounts, can cause paralysis, and in large amounts, death._

_The Blessedback played a vital part in the Blessed Isles' ecosystem. Their diet consisted primarily_ _of_ _a specific species of rose known as the Shiva Rose. This rose, which grew aggressively and killed all neighbouring plants, was also extremely poisonous. The Blessedbacks, being immune to the poisons, were the only inhabitants of the island capable of culling the plant, and they were well respected for this reason._

_Following the Cataclysm – and the inception of the Shadow Isles – all surviving Blessedback left the island. Many died, unable to adapt to new regions, but a few migrated to Bilgewater and found their niches. Though they no longer eat Shiva Roses, the Blessedback ha_ _ve_ _an inclination towards red foods, such as red roses, strawberries, apples, and tomatoes._

At the end of the text, there was a drawing of the turtle. It was an old pencil sketch – perhaps originating from centuries ago – but the drawing wasn't necessary in the first place. There was little doubt that Quinn had just read about Tamago, the Institute of War's librarian and guardian.

She looked up at the turtle. Now properly informed, the playful nips at LeBlanc the other day didn't seem so playful anymore. At least Tamago didn't try to bite her – she wasn't sure if her reflexes were quick enough to avoid him.

Quinn closed the book and sighed. The hint might have been a little too obvious; Tamago had brought her the book the moment she had sat down in the library.

  


Red food wasn't hard to come by. The market had all kinds of red things, food included, and once she'd confirmed there would be no difficulty in her task, she began to wonder what qualified as acceptable for a Blessedback turtle. It seemed like the colour was more important than the actual nutritional value of the food. Stopping at a butcher's stall, Quinn frowned. Raw meat was reddish, did it count? And what about the blood dripping from it? Did Blessedbacks drink blood? Or, on a lighter note, what about red wine, lobster, or poisonous holly?

Shifting of the crowd alerted Quinn, and it didn't take much effort to pick out the right conversation – the cause of the sudden discomfort – in the marketplace.

“Be careful not to drop it,” a familiar voice said.

“Yessir.”

“If it breaks, there won't be anything left of you.”

“Yessir.”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Yessir.”

“Nothing, from hair to shoe.”

“Yessir.”

Quinn fought against the crowd. The squeaky voice was unmistakable.

“Ziggs,” Quinn said, catching sight of him.

The Yordle jumped in the air and clapped excitedly, before waddling over, his assistant forgotten. “It's a Quinn.”

“Caitlyn said you had something to tell me.”

“That's true. I sure do,” Ziggs said, looking left and right. “It's important, so open an ear, an eye, and I promise not to lie!”

“I'm listening.”

“The Sheriff should not hear, of Demacia's greatest fear.”

He motioned for her to kneel down, so they would be closer. Knowing no progress would be made otherwise, Quinn obeyed. The advantage of being a crazy Hexplosive expert was the privacy. Nobody wanted to be collateral damage when he finally made a lethal mistake, so he was always given a wide berth – even in the middle ofmarketplaces.

“Twas an inside job. The bomb,” Ziggs whispered, shivering at the word. “It was planted by a Demacian named Kaiser. He is your attempted murderer. With a huff and a puff he blew your house down!”

As LeBlanc had said. _Kaiser_. Ziggs confirmed her information, and unless she influenced him, then it was true – a Demacian had tried to kill Quinn. Very possibly the same one who'd hired the assassin back in the capital.

“How did you figure this out?” Quinn said.

“He's a clown,” Ziggs said. “Didn't hide his name, nor his shame, when he bought the stuff.”

Stuff being the explosives, Quinn assumed.

“But he doesn't work alone, my sources say,” Ziggs continued. “He has hidden allies, in the fray.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Quinn withdrew, feeling bad for the assistant, who held an ominous looking box and had beads of sweat running down his face.

  


Tamago approved of the strawberries she had returned with. In return, he truly took on the role of librarian. He would bring her texts to read – mostly relating to dimensional magic, as she'd requested – and while she was reading the dusty old tomes, he'd munch happily on his strawberries.

Initially, she had wanted to spend the whole day looking into the problem of how to remove a dimensional anchor from herself, but the Institute's library proved to be too great of an opportunity. Within a couple books, she was reading about all kinds of different magic.

One book that Tamago brought her discussed the magic behind the Freljordian Gems. They had an intricate relationship with nature itself, and were also classified as memory gems – that was, between the three of them, they stored the entirety of Freljord's history. Memory gems didn't need to be actual gems, but gems were both valuable and long lasting, and tradition held strong for mages capable of infusing memories into objects. The Freljordian gems were a unique case of memory gems, however. They were the first ever of their kind, and weren't created by mages. Instead, Runeterra had somehow manifested the magic necessary, and humans had learned the magic by examining them.

“Next,” Quinn said, closing the book an hour later.

Tamago was quick on the next one. He was gone less than a minute before another book was dropped in front of Quinn. The book's cover depicted two naked women with interlocked legs. Before starting the book, she tried to guess how it was related to her studies, but came up with nothing. Opening it, she managed to read a single sentence before the scent of roses wafted up from the pages, and she slammed the book shut again.

The book was, without a doubt, completely unrelated to her studies. Now was not the time to be reading those sorts of books. And if LeBlanc had touched it at any point in time, there probably wasn't ever a right time to read it. How intelligent was Tamago, really? Maybe he had just wanted to get back to his strawberry.

Before she could demand another, more appropriate book, the library doors swung open.

“There you are,” Lux said, rushing into the room. The concept of a library must have eluded her, because, she made no attempt at staying quiet. “Come on, come on, we need to go.”

“Go?” Quinn said, shoving the book under the table. “Where?”

“Demacian headquarters,” she said, grabbing Quinn's arm and pulling her out of the chair. “You have mail – and have you even seen the newspaper, this morning? With no fixed address, they're dumping your letters there. At least you and Ashe didn't get the front page – that would've been disastrous. What am I saying? It _is_ disastrous, anyways. Taric is really overwhelmed, so let's not keep him waiting.”

“Could you maybe try sticking to one topic at a time?”

  


Valor joined them on the way to the Demacian headquarters. Between her parting ways with Lux, and arriving at the library, she had filled him in on Thresh's actions, the Unwilling Passengers, and Kaiser. They would need to have a long conversation soon, but at least he knew what was going on. For now, Valor seemed curious about the mail, and his intuition wasn't ever to be ignored.

Once inside the Demacian headquarters, Valor quickly flew up to the rafters, where he he had space to spread his wings without bothering anyone, and where he was able to watch everyone in the building. It was surprisingly crowded, too, considering how many champions had left for Demacia. There were a handful of Demacian ambassadors – nameless nobles with their heads held high – who roamed the building, bringing papers back and forth and talking amongst themselves. At the head of the main table, Taric was buried in a mound of documents.

“They're really pulling us thin,” Taric said, taking notice of them after a minute or so of frustrated sighs. “Sit, please.”

Sitting at the table, already, was Vayne, who was sleeping with a pile of papers as her pillow, and Sona, whose quill floated above a blank page, poised to write. Kayle was present, too. She was adorned in gold armour – not glittering like Taric's gems, but a matte metal that was almost a bronze, or orangish colour. Her eyes were hidden as she looked up at Quinn and Lux, but somehow she still felt personable. She silently nodded towards them, and Quinn felt impelled to return the gesture.

“What a bummer.”

A woman appeared from the kitchen area, stunning Quinn and completely overriding Taric's order to sit down.

Ahri was beautiful in the newspaper, in photos, and by word of mouth, but meeting her in person was completely different. She was still beautiful, but the word felt like it took on a completely different meaning, in the context of Ahri. Like she was a goddess, who descended to the realm of mortals, and who was everything that was right with the world. Her looks could end wars and cure terminal diseases, and she was the source of inspiration for artists everywhere. She was perfection, crystallized.

Her tails – Quinn paused to count all nine of them – were long and bushy, and well groomed, unlike actual foxes, and they swished back and forth in unison, like a metronome to brainwash the vulnerable. The pure whiteness of her tails were counteracted by her red dress. It was sleeveless, hugging her hourglass form with no shame, and every inch of her, from her wide hips to the curves of her breasts, shoulders, and armpits, were perfect. The dress failed to cover much skin on her upper half, though, and much too much of her upper breasts were visible. The men who weren't already entranced by her tails certainly would be by her chest, which was probably the envy of women everywhere. And then there was her lips, full, red, and curved slightly upwards in both a curious and taunting smile.

But there was more, which normal woman didn't have and couldn't flaunt. Her fingers, bent slightly as though she were grasping something, were long and slender, and her nails sharp like weapons, painted the same blood-red as her lips. Golden yellow eyes which, though it wasn't dark, still seemed to glint as they watched, entertained. The thing that gave Quinn the longest pause, however, were her ears. _Cat ears._ There was the inexplicable urge to reach out and touch them – something Quinn hoped could be explained away by magic, rather than some as-of-yet undiscovered fetish.

“I come for some fun, but it's all woman,” Ahri said, crossing her arms over her breasts.

Sona tilted her head,not-so-subtly motioning towards Taric, but he was too busy to notice. Thankfully so, because Ahri shook her head dismissively.

“I'll just have to make due,” she said, eyes now roaming over Quinn and Lux.

Quinn hadn't believed the rumours, but Ahri's casual voice – both soft and feminine – actually did have a suggestive undertone to it. No matter what she said, it felt like an innuendo.

“Ugh – who invited you?” Lux said.

Ahri pointedly ignored her. “Quinn, is it? I've something for you,” she said, slinking over. With the way she said it, Quinn expected something other than her dropping a newspaper onto the table. “It's quite an... interesting read.”

A tail brushed against her pants, and then tried to slip underneath the hem, but Lux ended the attempt with a not-so-subtle stomp. For a second, though, Quinn had felt Ahri's fur against her ankle. It was softer than any pillow she'd ever felt, and she wondered how well of a night's rest she might get, using Ahri's tail as a pillow. And maybe as a blanket, too. Valor dropped from the ceiling, spreading his wings out at the last second and blasting her with wind, before circling the room and returning to the rafters.

Taking advantage of the wake-up call, Quinn employed her entire willpower towards focusing on the Senta Herald. Still, her burning ears would give her thoughts away, to anyone who was watching closely.

A large image on the front page of the paper featured the Machinist, Viktor, and a short bald man. The text claimed he was one of Zaun's councilmen – someone who helped rule the nation – and while he was undeniably ugly, Quinn's attention didn't linger on him for more than a fraction of a second. The paper's headline was unignorable.

_Zaun to support Lissandra and the Frostguards._

“Not that, silly,” Ahri said, leaning in, pressing her cheek against Quinn's as she flipped to the second page of the paper. “This.”

Ahri took a second before withdrawing – Lux might have pulled on her hair, though Quinn wasn't entirely sure – and then Zaun's insanity was forgetting, as, with growing horror, Quinn read the article.

_Quinn Attridge, the newest addition to the League of Legends, wasn't the newest for long. Lissandra's arrival has quickly overshadowed her presence, but her abilities shouldn't be underestimated. Her practical, down-to-earth fighting style is forgettable, with plenty of flashy champions all around her, but she hasn't lost a battle on the Summoners Rift, yet. An exclusive interview with a close friend of Quinn's reveals more about the Demacian native._

_Reporter: Let's start things off with a easy question. How would you describe Quinn?_

_Anonymous source: She's not as she seems, for starters (laughs). With animal-like instincts integrated into her fighting, she's no match for the average combatant. You could say she has the reaction time of a deer, the intelligence of a hunter, and the ruthlessness of a barbarian._

_R: A deer, hunter, and barbarian, you say? And how does her magic play a role in all this?_

_A: You're getting ahead of yourself, here. The thing is, she has no magic._

_R: No magic? It's true that we haven't seen any from her, in her two matches on the Rift, but that's still hard to believe. Is this unprecedented, for a champion of the League of Legends?_

_A: Well, maybe I should correct myself, here. She has no magic of her own, but she makes good use of others' magic. That, combined with an unnaturally high constitution, makes her a real contender on the field of battle. I wouldn't say it's unprecedented, with the likes of Blitzcrank and Jax, among other champions, but it's certainly rare. Magic tools help offset this, and it's a testament to how powerful_ _these_ _champions are, that they can compete with the likes of the Syndras and Luxs of Runeterra (pauses). That being said, I've always wondered if Quinn's physical constitution isn't bolstered by some sort of magic – of course, I've asked her about it before, and she says she doesn't know, which likely means it's not._

_R: I see. But, I feel you've only answered half of my first question. What can you say about Quinn, outside of her combat abilities?_

_A: She's very practical. Not one to get sucked into society's fads and fashion (laughs). That's just from her upbringing though. Far from the capital, people have different values._

_R: A woman who doesn't spend money like water. Now, for all the bachelors out there, tell us, is she available?_

_A: She's a tomboy, and I think it turns away many men, who can't bear to date anyone stronger than themselves. She has, however, found herself a fair number of women._

_R: Women? Am I hearing you correctly?_

_A: That's right. Quinn has always had a tendency towards other wom_ _e_ _n. By the time she had graduated, she'd had multiple female partners. Of course, none of these relationships lasted long. Quinn has always been a drifter, so to speak, so she's more of a use-em-and-drop-em type of woman, now._

To drive the point home, a picture below the text featured her and Ashe hugging. Captioned: _More Than Just Friends. Quinn (left) and Ashe (right), hugging outside the Institute of War. Their relationship has been on and off for the past few years, as Quinn refuses to settle down._ _Despite_ _Ashe_ _’s recent engagement, it seems there are lingering feelings between the two of them._

Quinn pushed the paper away. There was more of the interview, but she'd seen enough. “That's-”

“It's the tabloid, Quinn,” Lux said, her eyes still on Ahri. “Nobody believes a word of it – nobody important, at least.”

Ahri clicked her tongue. “They get it right, sometimes. I was just wondering if this could be one of the times.”

“That's not possible. I never even graduated,” Quinn said. “This is all made up.”

“I see,” Ahri said, looking downcast. Even her tails drooped with disappointment. Though in the same second, one of the drooping tails began to sneak its way up Quinn's pant leg, again. Of course, it wasn't long enough to reach anywhere meaningful, but it found a different mark. The back of her knee was tickled, and Quinn reached out, bracing herself against a chair as an involuntary shudder ran through her body. “But that's fine,” Ahri whispered. “They can be lies. More importantly, you seem... stiff. Perhaps I could alleviate some of your undue tension? I promise to show you a good time.”

Lux intervened, pushing away Ahri's tail. “She's not your plaything, fox girl. Back off.”

A smirk crossed Ahri's face. “I see... I rescind my offer anyways – the paper was right about one thing, at least. It appears she does not have enough magical energy for my services. You, on the other hand, Luxanna Crownguard... I have lusted after for awhile.”

Lux seethed. Quinn hadn't ever seen her so mad, and she half expected a fight to erupt. On a horizontal support beam far above them, Valor spread his wings, readying himself.

“I've spent many days courting Garen,” Ahri said, oblivious. “But he has proven hopeless. If I didn't know better, I'd say... an eunuch. And the Crownguard family has tempted me for years, so I have been watching you, lately. How about it, Lady of Luminosity?”

“You're disgusting,” Lux said, “and, quite frankly, I think you'd better leave before I'm forced to make you.”

A drawn-out sigh escaped Ahri's lips. “If you have a change of heart, you know where I live... A quick visit before you leave town wouldn't hurt anyone.”

“Leave.”

Lux had barked the order – sounding momentarily like her brother – and Ahri glared at her for a second before swishing her tail and stalking out of the building. The atmosphere seemed to change as she left – maybe it did, and Quinn just wasn't as attuned to the room's magic, because of all the time she'd spent in the city. In either case, Quinn exhaled a breath, feeling more like herself with every passing second.

“You really don't like Ahri, do you?” she said.

“That whore has been after my brother for years. I don't get why Ionia keeps her around. She's brought enough disgrace to them, you'd think they would toss her in the Pit of Pallas.”

Before Quinn could sympathise or just offer a offhanded grunt of agreement, Taric called them over.

“You could have handled Ahri a little more diplomatically,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What was she even doing here?” Lux challenged.

“She said she hadn't met Quinn yet, and wanted to. I thought it would be safer to have that happen here and now, rather than leaving it up to chance.”

“I'm not-” Quinn started. “I wouldn't have-”

“Quinn, this is nothing against you,” Taric said, taking a rare moment to look up from his work. “Ahri pursues every new face in town, and she can be very aggressive about it. When she makes full use of her charm, I hate to say it, but she's successful more times than not. Particularly when she catches her prey alone. Now, we have other matters to attend to.” His brusque change in topic was temporarily shut down, as he spent a minute digging in the piles of paper. Finally, he withdrew a parchment, sealed by a wax Demacian crest. “Quinn, a letter from the king.”

When she hesitated to take it, Lux nudged her forward. Breaking the seal, she unravelled the parchment. Valor was positioned on the rafters above them, his sharp eyes easily capable of reading it, too. She had never taught him how to read – it was always something she'd taken for granted, and rather than dwell over the realization now, she focused on the inked cursive words.

_Special Recon Squad, Sergeant First Class Quinn Attridge_

_The King hereby orders you return to the Demacian capital with great haste. You have been summoned to the King's_ _c_ _ourt, where you will present yourself for the following matters:_

_-an urgent mission for the Special Recon Squad._

-t _he resulting punishment for your desertion of duty on June 16_ _th_ _, of the 22_ _nd_ _year of the League Era._

_-repercussions of the attack on Everridge, by the Shadow Isles creature known as Guillotine._

There was more writing scrawled at the bottom of the letter.

_Your parents are safe. They have been evacuated to emergency housing in the capital, with most of the rest of the village._

_\- Jarvan IV_

Quinn took a deep breath, and exhaled.

The letter was a roller coaster of emotions. In one breath, they were talking about a mission, and the next, a punishment. And when had Everridge been attacked? She hadn't heard anything about it.

“Are you returning to the capital?” Taric said.

Quinn cast a furtive glance upwards, to Valor. She couldn't ask him aloud, because of all the other people present in the room, so she tried to communicate as much as she could through eye contact. Valor bobbed his head, confirming their return to Demacia, and maybe she knew all along that it was the right decision – running wasn't the solution to the current problem, not yet, at least – but it still helped to have an unbiased and definite answer.

“I'll leave at once,” she said, walking to the fireplace and properly disposing of the letter.

“Good,” Lux said, clapping her hands cheerfully. “The horses are at the stable. We'll take Elm and Elalah.”

“We will?”

“Yes, yes, assuming Fiora didn't take either of them last night. She has a preference for Beau.”

“I mean – you're coming too?”

“I got a letter from the king ordering me back. Is that a problem?”

“No,” Quinn said, after a moment of consideration.

“I don't know what the king is thinking,” Taric said, returning to the papers in front of him, and striking out paragraphs of writing. “There will only be the four of us left here, so make it a quick trip.”

“I don't think so,” Lux said. “The king has a mission for me, apparently.”

Quinn didn't say anything about her letter, and surprisingly neither of them asked. She had some suspicions, but at the same time, she was pretty sure the king was smarter than to send two scouts on the same job.

“Also, Quinn, you have business in the Sealed Room. Lux, if you're leaving together, you can sign some papers while you wait. She shouldn't be long.”

Not once did Taric look up, and Lux mouthed 'sorry', before pointing towards a door at the back of the room, and then sitting down herself.

The Sealed Room was exactly what it sounded like; it was blocked off from everything else, physically and magically. Behind two sets of heavy doors, it was a small, featureless area with a single table and two chairs. Embedded into the center of the table was a gem, which must have acted as the source of the protection. Akali was already in one of the seats, leaning back with her eyes closed. When Quinn stepped inside, the door automatically closed behind her, and Akali opened an eye.

“Top notch security,” she said, not sounding all too impressed.

“What did you want? Is this all really necessary?”

“I just told Taric I needed a private conversation with you – nothing so extreme. The Sealed Room is more for top secret business, like toppling nations.” Akali grinned, reaching into a bag hanging from her chair. She pulled out an envelope and set it on the table between them.

Quinn picked it up and examined it. The envelope's material was light purple, and a wax crest sealed it. The Kinkou Order's crest was a complicated thing, best described as swirls spiralling inwards. There were also curved swords around the outer edge – possibly scimitars, or the like – but it was still symmetrical and elegant.

“This may seem odd,” Akali said, “but I have a request for you, from the Kinkou Order. Taric said you're probably returning to Demacia, so it's nothing too troubling, I think. Just a few minutes' deviation from your schedule to deliver this letter.”

“I'm not a delivery man,” Quinn said flatly.

“I know,” Akali said. “But this isn't something I can trust to the public mail delivery service. It would be very troublesome if it didn't get delivered.”

“Fine, I'll do it,” Quinn said, surprising herself.

“What? Really? Excellent.” She stood up, handing Quinn a small piece of paper. “Coboro street. A man named Shadrick.”

“Okay.”

Quinn was caught in a good mood – that was all she could say. Either that, or she was getting accustomed to people asking her favours, and since becoming a pushover didn't sound appealing, she dismissed the theory, and stepped out of the room, freeing Lux of her paper signing duty. Together, they left the headquarters.


	27. Elm and Elalah

Even before they arrived at the stable, Quinn had decided on Elalah. If the horse was as interesting as his name, they would get along well. The two horses were Demacian Walkers, Lux explained on the walk to the stables, but the breed didn't matter to Quinn. She rarely rode horses, and when she did, she'd never had enough coin to be picky about the breed.

Once at the stable, a stable-hand quickly brought them to Elm and Elalah and then made himself scarce.

“What's with his name?” Quinn said, giving the horse a carrot as a peace offering.

“I don't know,” Lux said. “Fiora would. Elalah graduated from her training program. Elm, Beau, and nearly every other horse in the military did, too.”

That was the Laurent family's history, or something along those lines. Long ago, they had started as horse breeders and trainers, and had worked their way up to where they were now. It had only taken centuries of being loyal to the king.

Many other families, like the Crownguards, Buvelles, and the Vaynes, sucked up to the Lightshields as well. That was the essence of the noble families, and Quinn could only be glad she wasn't born into such shallow families.

Shortly after meeting the horses, she and Lux split up again for last minute preparations. A couple hours later, they regrouped at the city gates and left town.

Quinn's backpack was slightly heavier than usual, as a result of her employment with the Institute of War. Her essentials – a tinderbox, emergency rations, a couple Demacian coins, and a water bottle – were packed first, and then she let herself get creative.

Not travelling alone, she would need to be more conscious of her hygiene, so she packed a towel and bar of soap, knowing there wouldn't be any shortage of freezing cold rivers to throw herself in. A couple spare daggers also found their way into her bag, and attributed to most of the additional weight.

She also bought a mix of herbs and spices at the market. When she had been younger, fresh meat had tasted very plain to her, and sometimes downright disgusting, so she'd spent her extra income on seasoning to make it go down easier. She wasn't sure when, but at some point in her travels, she had stopped with the extra expense. Now, maybe it was reversing the progress she'd made, but she was already looking forward to dinner. Even the aroma at the market had woken a sense of nostalgia in her.

There were a couple more items packed in her bag that didn't qualify as essentials or luxury. The Nadir Coin fit snuggly into a side pocket, along with LeBlanc's drawing of Kaiser. The coin gave her mixed feelings, yet she couldn't bring herself to sell it. If she ever travelled to Shurima or Freljord, it would be useful to keep her body temperature in check, but otherwise it felt wrong to be carrying such a powerful item around. Maybe she would hide it somewhere on their way to Demacia.

In the same pocket was Akali's letter, which she needed to deliver to a man named Shadrick. She had spent five minutes repeating the name to herself so she wouldn't forget it, but ultimately knew she would, and that was when Valor would chime in, so she didn't worry too much on that front.

There were two roads between Demacia and Senta. The south road passed through many Demacian cities and villages, and thus was common for small time traders and merchants, but it was also the longer route. For this reason, people who wanted to travel quickly between the capital and Senta used the north road. It was half a day quicker, and better maintained.

The north road passed by the Howling Marsh – and the rock, Passenger's Fate, where Quinn had repelled an attack by the Unwilling Passengers – so there were regular patrols to keep the swamp creatures at bay.

The two roads were roughly equal in popularity, and had virtually no bandits, due to the heavy presence of merchants who took defense into their own hands. Quinn and Lux, however, weren't going to take either of the roads. The fastest way between two points was, of course, a straight line. With Elm and Elalah, they would cut through the thick forests of Demacia – a task not everyone could do – and make record time to the capital, where the king was awaiting them.

Though they didn't talk at all about the difficult path they were taking, Lux maintained a conversation for the entire day. She quickly latched onto the fact that 'yes' 'no' questions were most likely to get an answer, and sometimes she would answer on Quinn's behalf, if Quinn was too slow in responding.

It was weird, not traveling alone, but this oddity was cancelled out by the familiarity of the Demacian forests. A couple weeks ago, Quinn might have said Lux would be _the_ worst travelling partner, but as it turned out, she didn't mind Lux's ramblings. It was entertaining, and bit by bit, she was learning about the Crownguard family, and life in the capital.

She also learned that Lux was a good whistler. Lux could imitate the birds of the forest, and they would follow overhead, dancing between the trees and conversing with her – Quinn had read a book about that once, where the birds had serenaded a beautiful princess – but all that had stopped when Valor took it as an opportunity for an easy midday snack.

Coincidentally, Lux could also imitate a Demacian eagle's cry. Her imitation, however, was terrible, if Valor was any indication. After the so-called ‘incident', of which Lux refused to speak of in any other manner, she imitated the Demacian eagle much more often. Eventually, the two of them came to an understanding, and the whistling stopped altogether.

  


It was one of the few surprise luxuries of the forest. They were small, not even the size of a fingernail, but they didn't lack in taste, and they were all over. There was just enough strawberry to begin to appreciate the juicy sweetness, but never enough to be satisfied. With the last rays of sunshine, the two of them crawled around the forest floor, collecting and eating what they could find, with Elm and Elalah following in their wake, disinterested in the affairs of the bipeds.

Quinn thought back to the strawberries she'd bought for Tamago. They had been much larger, but also genetically modified by magic, and though she didn't eat any of them – Tamago would have been distraught – she was pretty sure the wild berries were much tastier.

After the sun had set, they realized how carried away they'd gotten, and they began collecting firewood in the dark. Valor later returned with a fox in his talons. He dropped it between them, a very blunt opinion on certain matters, if Quinn was willing to acknowledge how cunning he was. Though Lux seemed pleased, Quinn sent Valor off again. He could eat the raw, stringy fox meat, but Quinn wanted something more appropriate for human consumption.

The firewood assembled, Quinn began digging in her backpack for her tinderbox when she heard a loud _whoosh_. Turning around, she was staring at a large, crackling fire.

“See how useful I am?” Lux said, pointing an index finger upwards and blowing it like it was a smoking gun.

Without responding, Quinn closed her backpack and sat by the fire.

It was a harmless action, helpful, even, but it still made her uncomfortable. That could have just as easily been Quinn set on fire, or anyone Lux decided she didn't like. It was a reminder of the difference between them. The vastness that separated magic users from those without the ability, and the danger Lux posed, without even being conscious of it.

No – in this instance, maybe Lux _was_ conscious of it. She sat next to Quinn, suddenly quiet. Normally, she'd have fished for compliments, or moved on to another topic, but even her body language was more subdued.

“Magic isn't bad,” she said eventually.

A piece of firewood collapsed in half, sending a puff of smoke and embers their way. The embers glowed a bright orange in the forest's night before extinguishing, and an owl hooted in the distance. It was calming. It was familiar. Except for the person sitting beside her.

Quinn offered no response, and instead stared into the fire. Once it was burning, there was no telling its origin. The wood burned the same, the heat on her skin felt the same, and the smoke smelled the same – and it was no different from any fire Quinn had ever started. Only it had been effortless, and it had happened in a second. Fire magic wasn't even Lux's specialty – if it had been Annie, or Brand, the entire forest would have been engulfed in flames by now.

What was she so conflicted about?

Thankfully, Valor arrived to clear her thoughts away. He dropped a plump rabbit in front of her, and she began the messy task of skinning it.

“The tabloid's headline,” Quinn said, turning the meat over the fire some minutes later. “Zaun to support Lissandra. Is it true?”

Lux hummed, watching the food cook. “Taric believes it, and he's been in close contact with the other nations.”

“I don't get it. Do they just not care anymore?”

“I wouldn't say that. They must see some way to benefit from all of this. They aren't expansionist, like Noxus, but I know the Zaunite council would be happy if they were the only nation in the world. Maybe you could say they're afraid of everything and everyone, even if they would never admit it.”

“Unless they plan on merging with Freljord, helping Lissandra shouldn't do them any good.”

“No,” Lux agreed. She hesitated, before turning away from the fire and looking out into the pitch blackness of the forest. “And don't be embarrassed by the paper... and – and what it wrote about you. Even if it were true, I don't think there's anything wrong with it.”

“What?”

“Girls dating girls.”

Quinn burnt her finger adjusting the meat, and bit back a swear. “Telling me not to feel embarrassed only makes it worse. I'd rather forget about it.”

“There's nothing wrong with it,” Lux said again, more determined. “I – um – I had a girlfriend, back in college. It was only for a few months – she dumped me, saying she couldn't date a prodigy.”

Her burnt finger was forgotten, and instead her brain kept echoing Lux's words. Lux had dated a girl before, and that meant... what the hell did it mean? It meant Quinn was getting too far ahead of herself. The idea of she and Lux being a thing was ludicrous, even if her brain celebrated that there was even the slimmest chance of it. Valor would probably drop a fox carcass on her if he knew what she was thinking.

Quinn took a step away from the fire. The heat was too much for her and she was sweating. “I don't blame her,” Quinn said, her thoughts elsewhere.

“Oh.” Lux was obviously off put by the tactless response.

“You're special, and that makes you hard to be around.”

“Oh.”

No, that did _not_ improve the situation. Think before you speak, Quinn decided. “I just mean, she probably felt overwhelmed being next to you. Some people aren't good at living in the shadows of others.”

“I only stopped using a night-light last month.”

“Wait, what? How is that relevant?”

“My light, to be precise. It started as practice, trying to keep my magic going all night, but eventually I grew too used to it, and couldn't sleep without it.”

“Okay.”

“And – and – I'm terrified of spiders, and failure, and disappointing others, and – and school was scary – and – and-”

“I get it,” Quinn said. “Prodigy or not, you're still human.”

But Quinn hadn't really understood it until she had said it aloud. Lux was human. Sure, she was born to the Crownguard family, who spent decades sucking up to the royal family, and sure, she was one of the greatest mages of Runeterra, but she was also human.

They were different, but the same. And as confusing as that was, it made Quinn look at her in a different light. It was a light Valor certainly wouldn't like, but it might not have been as stupid as she'd thought, just earlier that day.

Their dinner was eaten in relative silence, perhaps both of them lost in their own thoughts. Once Quinn was finished, she picked out a secure looking tree, climbed up to the best branch she could find, and secured her backpack against it to act as a pillow. She leaned over and looked down at Lux, who was still on the ground and who seemed completely uninterested in tree climbing.

“Are you sleeping down there?” Quinn said.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure? You might be eaten by a bear.”

“Elm and Elalah will wake us if there's any trouble. I prefer the ground. As a kid, I fell off a tree when I was sleeping, and broke my arm. Since then, I've always preferred the ground.”

“Not yet done sharing embarrassing facts about yourself?” Quinn said.

Lux laughed. “I could go on all night.”

She could, but she wouldn't.

For a moment, Quinn resented Demacia, and the king, and his army which never even fought in wars. If it had just been the two of them and Valor, they could wander the forests and countrysides together, without worry. And they could talk all night, like they did after the Freljordian Banquet, and there would be no rush to be anywhere, or do anything-

“Goodnight,” Lux said from somewhere down below.

“'Night.”

  


Some time later that night, she woke up. Even without opening her eyes, she knew Valor was next to her.

“Is she asleep?”

Valor sidled along the branch closer to her, and she popped an eye open. He cawed quietly, and she sat up.

“Let's go for a walk?”

Dropping from the tree made an inevitable thud, but Lux was a sufficiently heavy sleeper, and she didn't even stir. And despite what Lux had claimed, tonight she was sleeping with her night-light on. It had an orangish hue to it and wasn't very bright, but Quinn could still make out her face, and her closed eyes.

At the base of the tree, she stood there a moment. It was warm enough that Lux didn't need a blanket, and she looked particularly exposed, lying on the forest floor.

Quinn left the campsite a short while later.

The partial moon didn't help her navigate, and she mostly did it by instinct and fumbling around. Following Valor, who was slowly weaving between trees, was like doing an obstacle course blindfolded.

“Irelia doesn't want to kill the Passengers,” Quinn said, once they were a distance away from camp. “She wants to save them. That's not what I want – not really. It sounds dangerous, and it is dangerous. Even right here, right now. How can I know whether or not a portal is going to pop up in front of me?” She listened to the crunch of weeds and leaves underfoot for a minute. “I'd walk right into it.”

Valor returned to her, landing on her head instead of her shoulder. His talons tried to find grip in her hair, and it wasn't comfortable, but she couldn't help but laugh.

“Thanks, Val,” she finally managed.

Their walk continued, Valor guiding her with signals from his talons. Quinn estimated they were now circling the camp, at half a kilometer out. She also wondered if maybe Valor was jealous of her riding a horse, all day.

Valor cawed.

“If I find a way to remove the anchor? Some dimensional expert, in the capital? ... I know. Trying to be optimistic, here... Okay. It's not like Irelia's has any ideas, anyways. I've had another thought, too. What if the anchor can be used by more than the Passengers? What if someone like Taric or Kayle pops up – or even worse, a Voidborn. I really don't understand how any of it works.”

Valor agreed with her, and a short while later, he brought up Du Couteau. For a bird who had expressed no interest in immortality for himself, he was very interested in Quinn’s survival. Still, it was reassuring that Valor had some trust for Du Couteau.

“I agree,” Quinn said. “I want to see where it leads. Where he leads us. This evening, for a second, I had thought that maybe it was fine to die. Eventually, somewhere down the line. But that's ridiculous... Yes, it was because of her... Valor,” she shouted, shaking him free of her head. “Don't say that about her. They aren't even comparable. Besides, you were the one to get sucked in before me. Don't think I forgot about your little pendulum game with her during my introduction.”

She certainly wouldn't forget it, nor would she forget the time loop she'd found herself in. That was still a mystery that hadn't even shown hints of starting to unravel. More and more, she began to suspect it had been her imagination. Some kind of byproduct of being saturated with the city's magic.

“We already decided she's pretty,” Quinn went on. “Eye candy, that's all.”

They continued circling the camp for awhile, though their discussion turned to the more mundane, as time went on. Eventually, Quinn turned inwards towards the camp.

“We need to prepare ourselves,” she said. “I don't want to walk into the capital thinking we're in control when we're not.”

Not that Quinn was afraid of the king’s impending punishment. The military considered imprisonment a thing of the past, and only Noxians branded their deserters.

The worst she had to look forward to was getting assigned a shitty job or being demoted. Alternatively, they might forfeit her pay, which would be annoying, but she'd long been able to fend for herself. The forest had everything she needed. Still, something about the king's letter bothered her.

 

“I dreamt about you last night,” Lux said.

Letting the words process, Quinn ducked a branch at the last second. Maybe Lux was talking to Elm, or even Elalah – but no, Lux was looking at her expectantly. Lux had been dreaming about her.

“Oh, did you?” Quinn said casually.

“Mm hmm.”

“Are you going to tell me more?”

“Do you want to hear more?”

Two could play at that game, Quinn decided. “I don't know. I was listening to you all yesterday, I think I might be sick of it.”

“That's impossible,” Lux said, feigning dismay. “I dreamt we were going to Demacia, but we accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up in Noxus.”

“That'd be quite a wrong turn.”

“Time and space is always wonky in my dreams. But, anyways, we run into a baby Katarina and Cassiopeia – and it was really weird, because Cassiopeia was cute – she hadn't been cursed yet – and you were fawning all over them. I kept telling you to stop, because they were the enemy, but you wouldn't listen.”

“In a situation like that, you have permission to hit me.”

Lux laughed.

“So, what happened next?” Quinn said when she didn't continue.

“I'm not really sure, but next thing I know they've grown five years, and you're chasing them around a field, playing with them and they were laughing and I was all freaked out, and then I woke up. Are you good with children?”

“I wouldn't say so,” Quinn said, though she remembered the children of Heiwa village had been quite entertained by her. But that was because of cultural differences.

Conversation slowed as they increased their pace, and by midday they were in the thickest part of the forest, travelling single file. They were making good time, mostly following animal trails, and a rare three hours of silence passed before Lux finally spoke.

“Hold up,” she said, stopping Elm.

She pointed off into the vegetation, and Quinn brought Elalah around to see.

It was already almost completely covered, and she had to dismount and pull away some branches before it became completely visible. A pile of crushed and charred bones. It had been a large creature, perhaps a deer or moose, but the bones were too much of a mess to make an easy identification.

“Charred,” Lux said, looking up at the sky. “Hot fire. Wyvern?”

Quinn looked up, too. Probably close to a week ago, a wyvern had flown through the area and dropped the remnants of its meal.

“I'm sorry, Lux,” she said. “You'll need to keep going on your own.”

“What? Wait – no – why – no! This is from a wyvern, isn't it? You aren't going to go chasing a wyvern on your own.”

“Wasn't my plan,” Quinn lied. “We're near a village. I want to detour and make sure they're okay. I'll see you in the capital, okay?”

“No. I'm coming with you.”

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” Quinn said, though she was happy to hear it.

“I'm not going to slow you down.”

“I know that. It's just, there's no...” Quinn floundered for the right argument.

“No reason?” Lux said. “I hope you're joking. It is my sworn duty to protect _all_ Demacians.”

Quinn half heartedly argued the situation for another minute before acceding. Changing their heading slightly, they resumed their trek.

Another bonus to Lux coming along was that it was her turn to make dinner. That meant eating something killed by magic, but Quinn wouldn't complain since her sensitivity was still relatively low, having only left Senta two days ago.

Instead, she was curious to see how another ranger caught and prepared meat. Quinn was self taught in virtually every aspect of survival, and a chance to see another expert at work would be educational.

A couple hours later, Quinn hopped off her horse and knelt down on the forest floor.

“More signs?” Lux said.

“No. Something else.” Quinn gingerly touched the plant's leaf. “Larkspur.”

“I've heard of that,” Lux said, pausing to frown. She hopped off Elm a moment later, to get a closer look. “It's on my no-no list.”

“No-no list? What are you, ten?”

Lux blushed – maybe not realizing how silly it sounded aloud. “I'm not a herbalist – I don't go around memorizing everything, but I _do_ have an idea of what to avoid.”

“A no-no list. Then, do you have a yes-yes list?”

“Quit teasing me.”

“A maybe-maybe list?”

“What good is a maybe-maybe list? Wait a second – larkspur.” Lux's smile vanished. “I knew it sounded familiar. That's what Fiora's father used to poison his opponents.”

Quinn eyed the plant. It looked, as most plants did, innocuous. Green wasn't often considered dangerous. “Really?”

“Paralysis – but in a small enough dose that it didn't look that way. Just enough to slow his enemy by a fraction of a second.

Quinn drew her dagger and cut the plant at its root. She pocketed the green for a second, before thinking better of it.

“What?” Lux said when Quinn offered the plant to her.

“Rub it on the back of your hand.”

“No way,” Lux laughed.

“I'm serious. I need to know if you're allergic to it.”

“It won't kill me?”

“Consuming it might, but no. It'll itch, atworst. If I wanted to kill you – like you said the other night – I could do it in much better ways.”

“Right,” Lux muttered, rubbing the plant on the back of her hand. “Why do you want to know if I'm allergic to it?”

“I'm going to burn it, tonight. If there's a wyvern nearby, he'll come to the scent.”

“Eh? Really?”

“So I've read. Never had a chance to test it, though.”

Lux handed the plant back. “So you mean, it could really just kill us?”

“Sure,” Quinn said, pocketing the plant and climbing back onto Elalah. “It could. But remember – I don't plan on dying any time soon, so I'm not going to take any risks.”

That night, Quinn held off on burning the larkspur. They were close to the village, and she decided it would be a waste to burn it before knowing any details. If the villagers could help pinpoint the wyvern's location, then the larkspur would have a greater chance of luring it in.

  


_Ahri was_ _naked_ _. Her large, round breasts were completely visible, and a single tail was wrapped around her waist, covering what it could. She winked at Quinn, and then turned away. Beside her stood Lux, in her beautiful black dress, grass still in her hair from the night they'd spent out in the field. Ahri stepped closer to Lux, and her nine tails stretched out, enveloping the girl and pulling her closer._

_“Get away from me,” Lux yelled, pushing the fox-girl away. “I have Quinn!”_

_“Do you?” Ahri chuckled, turning to Quinn once again. This time, her tails weren't so protective. Looking down, Quinn realized she, too, was naked. “Well, if you insist,” Ahri said. “I wouldn't mind a three-way, but I would need to take twice as much from you. I'm sure you can handle it.”_

There were a few precarious seconds where Quinn debated rolling over and letting herself fall out of the tree. Such a shock was necessary, for her to forget what she had just dreamt.

Fortunately, she also realized that Lux was sleeping at the base of the tree, and Quinn felt no need to give her another rude awakening. Though it _was_ Lux's fault. Quinn never dreamt – or, rather, never remembered her dreams – but now that Lux was always talking about dreams, she was conditioned to lump Lux and dreams together, and that had been the result.

Without eating breakfast, the two of them climbed onto their horses and left camp shortly after sunrise.

The first signs of civilization were ribbons tied to trees. The colours changed as they worked their way inwards, and it might have signified the tree's age, or specific distances or directions. It didn't really matter, though, because with a close eye, they were able to follow a faint path into the village.

Unlike farming villages farther north, these villages were much less disruptive to the environment. Buildings were clustered together in clearings, with winding paths between them. There were structures in the trees, too, but they were smaller, and most were derelict; nowadays, with mages integrated into the village guard, it was safe to live on the ground. The treehouses were used for hideouts for children, and storage of old junk.

Even as they entered the village, kids who should have been in class were watching them silently from above, thinking they were sneaky. Occasionally, Lux would make a scene of looking up at the treetops suspiciously, and all the kids would slink back into the shadows. They, however, forgot that their giggling could be heard.

The village had many similarities with Everridge, including the schoolhouse. It was almost identical in shape and size, and when they passed by the building, Quinn peaked into a window and was surprised to see even the inside was similar to what she could remember. The layout of the desks, the bookshelves at the outer walls, and the teacher's wide desk at the front.

“Quinn, what's wrong?”

White chrysanthemums in a pot on the teacher's desk. Very similar.

“Nothing,” Quinn said. “The same architect that designed the school back in my village did this one, too.”

“Oh, really? It looks the same?”

“Yeah. Identical. Let's keep moving.”

They were attracting attention, and eventually a man approached them. After a quick exchange of words, he led them to the barracks to meet the chief. The barracks was surprisingly crowded, for being so small. Working their way to the back of the building, a familiar face accosted Quinn, and she froze.

It was a familiar face, but aged by nearly eight years. Her teacher, Miss Carrigan, smiled widely at her. It was like she was transported back eight years, and though Miss Carrigan had never been intimidating, Quinn felt overwhelmed. She couldn’t even remember her teacher's first name – how was Quinn supposed to refer to her as?

“Quinn!” her teacher said, rushing forward and embracing her lightly, before setting her at arm's length and examining her.

“Um – Miss Carrigan-”

“Nadine, now, sweetie. I haven't been your teacher for eight years. Eight long years.”

Quinn took a breath, reminding herself who she was, where she was, and what she was doing. It was all too weird. “I thought everyone had been evacuated to the capital.”

“My husband has family here. Better than going to the capital, he said – and I quite agree. The bustle of big cities don't suit us folks. Katherine and Edmond are fine,” she said, nodding sincerely. “I spoke with them before we parted ways. They and the rest of the evacuees were escorted to the capital. _Still_. Quinn, a dropout, a soldier, a hero. I would have never guessed – though maybe I should have, with how much you and Caleb played knights. Oh, Quinn, I'm so proud of you – even if you never visited your parents. It must have been hard, on your own.”

It was weird to hear someone talk about her parents, who had become almost figments of her imagination. Now, she couldn't even remember her mother's face, but she knew her mother's anger was what made her leave in the first place.

She remembered her father even less. He had pitied her, thinking she was too young to understand what had happened. Quinn had left before that pity turned into anger. She was forever a reminder of their lost child, and such reminders weren't appreciated.

“What happened to Everridge?” Lux said when Quinn fumbled to answer.

“Guillotine – it was terrible.” Nadine conspicuously ignored Lux, and chose to answer to Quinn. “Horrifying. Something like that shouldn't exist. The Shadow Isles shouldn't exist. I just wish a Shadow Isles creature attacked Senta, so they would retaliate and erase that island. That's what needs to be done. It needs to be erased. Now Quinn, what brings you to these parts of the forest? I can't imagine how busy you are. _Still_. You need to visit your poor mother. Especially now that you're a hero of that League of Lores place. Katherine is dying to talk to you. She's a crazy woman, that one. Once she puts her mind to something, you know your whole life is going to change.”

It looked like Nadine could have continued talking for another ten minutes, but Quinn wanted to leave as soon as possible, and so she promised Nadine she would visit her mother, and then she quickly excused herself. Lux followed close behind, with a troubled expression on her face.

Finally, they managed to break through the crowd to the back of the room. There, a group of men were seated at a round table, in heated argument, and at least one thing became clear. The dirty looks they had been gathering since entering the barracks were aimed at Lux. The men at the table, so far from the capital's power, were happy to openly glare.

“I'd like to speak with the chief,” Quinn said to the group of men around a round table.

“Tha's me,” the largest man said, standing up and stepping forward. “Wha' can I do for yeh?”

“Have you been having trouble with wyverns, recently?” Quinn said. “I saw signs of at least one, south-east of here.”

“Wyverns?” the man said, scratching his beard. “Can't say I have.”

Quinn continued to pepper him with questions, but found out nothing useful. They apparently hadn't even had trouble from Shadow Isles monsters in the past decade. It was the safest village in Demacia, he claimed.

Quinn declined the chief's offer to stay the night, and she and Lux excused themselves as soon as they had the chance. They left the barracks, making a wide detour around Nadine.

Elm and Elalah were being tended to by a bunch of carrot-wielding, mischievous kids, who ran away screaming and laughing when Quinn and Lux returned. The horses were unfazed by all the attention. They were trained to be calm in the middle of a war, and in the face of monsters from the Shadow Isles, so a bunch of energetic kids bearing offerings of food were no problem.

But before Quinn could mount Elalah, Lux stopped her.

“That was a lie,” she said. “He lied about not seeing the wyvern.”

Quinn adjusted Elalah's saddle. “He has no reason to lie. The wyvern probably can't even see this place, from the sky.”

“Just the way he talked – it was weird.”

“Your presence probably made him uncomfortable.”

“I'm not sure why he lied,” Lux said, “but I'm going to find out. Wait here.”


	28. Eavesdropping

**A/N:** This takes place at the same time as the next chapter, so there are ‘missing’ scenes that will appear next time.

 

* * *

 

Lux didn't wait for a response.

She knew Quinn would protest. In fact, words were just forming on Quinn’s lips when she hopped back, smiled, and pressed the backs of her hands together.

It was like sifting through the environment. Things such as sound and temperature weren’t needed, and she threw them away to focus on the interplay between colour and the natural lighting. A second later, having pushed aside all the noise, a tingling sensation ran through her body. Lux was invisible, and Quinn’s words died on her lips, turning into a scowl that was all too familiar.

Without a goodbye – she didn’t plan on being long – she left Quinn with the horses and reentered the village. The tingling sensation that ran through her body when she first turned invisible hadn’t completely gone away. It never did, and it would eventually grow worse and worse, like a numbness from lack of blood flow, until she could no longer stand on her own. That would be when her time was up, but she would be done much sooner.

If she had stopped to think about it for a moment, she might have decided not to go snooping around in the first place. This was going outside of her comfort zone. Not emulating Quinn’s rashness, but a return to the way she’d once been, before the military had sucked all the real adventure out of her.

At the door, she waited for someone to pass through and open it for her, but this patience fizzled and died quick enough, and she pulled it open herself. Stepping inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. Nobody had looked at the door. They were all too preoccupied with their drinks, food, and conversation.

Ale, in the barracks? she wondered. Could they not have built a separate building for their drinking habits?

Navigating her way through the crowd to the chief was a bigger challenge than she expected, as the men staggered around and changed directions sudden and often. It occurred to her that she might have been better off doing this part completely visible.

“The Marnettes are going to be pissed when they hear about this.”

At the back of the room, the conversation had grown in volume and tension.

“They aren't the only family who lost someone in the attack.” The voice of the chief, low and guttural like a Freljordian barbarian, was easily recognizable. “We have to make sacrifices. The sooner she returns to the capital, the better it is for _us_.”

“We don't even know whose side she's on,” another man said.

“You doubt me? The Crownguards themselves tried to kill her. An’ you know what? She called them out on it. Fearless, I say.”

“You sure 'bout that? 'Cause she sure looked friendly with Luxy.”

“Keep your frien’s close, and your enemies closer,” the chief said.

_He’s wrong_ , Lux thought. A loud bang of the table accompanied her thoughts, and she stared down at her hands in astonishment. A few people flinched, but nobody questioned the source of the noise – maybe the conversation was too heated for anyone to notice. She quickly retracted her hands and crossed her arms.

Recognizing her emotions was acceptable, but acting on them was not. Despite everything, it was still her biggest weakness.

The chief continued his tirade, his words growing angrier and angrier by the moment. “Tell me what you think she was doing during the month she was missing? You think she was aimlessly wandering around, and jus’ happened to show up at Senta to become a motherfucking champion? It ain’t a coincidence, I say. Same time she’s back in the picture, the resistance is on the rebound.”

One of the men finally pieced two and two together. “You think she's pulling the strings? Like – like she’s responsible for it?”

“It ain’t no coincidencethat she was with Luxanna Crownguard, let me say that much. Something big is going to happen, soon, an’ it may be the best chance we ever get in our lifetimes.”

“What you're saying is impossible. She's just one person – a human, to boot. Not like, an angel or an elf or whatever the fuck they have making daisies dance in Senta. No way she can change Demacia. She _could have_ helped us, though. One less wyvern in the world is more happen-able than one less monarchy.”

The room devolved into arguments as the men jumped to attack or defend the chief's words and decisions. Several men used fist banging to accompany their argument, further proving that Lux hadn’t been so out of line. A village meeting was much different from a noble one.

“Quiet!” the chief roared. “Quiet, everyone. You will listen to me. She's on our side – someone very close to her has assured me of that, and she's stronger than you think. You ever even hear of that motherfucking chunk of gold they call the Door of Acceptance? None of you could understand unless you've seen the Door in person. It's no’ something easy to open, and not something you'd be wise to underestimate, I say. ‘Sides, even without her, the resistance isn't as weak as it seems – we have backers with resources and good brains supporting us.”

“Who?”

“I shouldn't say.”

“Tell me who can defeat the greatest swordsmen and magicians in the world,” the man challenged. “I will sacrifice my life if we can win – but my wife, and my daughter – I can’t die until I'm assured they will get the life they deserve.”

The chief rubbed his neck and looked around the table. His eyes passed Lux without a pause, and she saw an intensity in them that could only be what made him chief in the first place. He was a man you had to respect. All this arguing only proved the stakes were much more than Lux could understand.

“What I say mustn't leave this room,” the chief said. “Very few in the resistance know of our most powerful supporters. They are those who seek balance in this world. You may not have heard of them, but they aren’t to be messed with. They’re Ionian, and they call themselves the Kinkou Order.”

Lux pulled away from the table. The sting of invisibility was putting a strain on her legs, and she needed to be somewhere she could dispel her magic. Already, her reaction times were probably tripled, like the drunkards in the room. Like a drunkard – which she really wished she was, right now.

_The Kinkou Order._

Retracing her steps out of the village, the words resounded in her ears.

They were plotting against Demacia. How was she supposed to react? No matter how she tried, she couldn't distance herself from Demacia to put herself in their shoes. Demacia, to her, was the epitome of balance. As one of the oldest nations, it had been there for centuries, and nobody expected it to stop existing any time soon. So many nations relied on it for trade, and so many people immigrated to the nation and were educated there every year. It wasn't hard to understand that Demacia was the keystone of Runeterra – Senta and the Summoners be damned – and to plot its downfall?

At the very least, they had Quinn all wrong. In fact, Lux wouldn’t even bring it up with Quinn, because it was all so obviously wrong.

_All of it._ The ravings of a madman.

 

Lux stopped and watched for a minute.

With a permanent scowl on her face, Quinn was pacing back and forth between Elm and Elalah. Every couple seconds, she'd turn her head towards the village, only to look away again. Only during those moments would her scowl would disappear, and Lux realized it was because Quinn was concerned. If Lux was foolish enough to start questioning everything, she would wonder if the concern was for herself, or for what she might learn by eavesdropping on the villagers.

But she wasn’t foolish. She needed to get her mind off the bad, and onto the good.

Twice, on the approach, Quinn seemed to notice something. It might have been the leaves on the ground giving her away, or the wind or the dirt, or any combination of them. Or it might have been her smell, too, Lux thought with a grimace. Taking perfume or deodorant into the unmapped forests of Demacia was generally a bad idea. It could be smelled from far away, and there were at least one or two unpleasant things that lurked in the forest who were attracted to strong scents.

“Lux?” Quinn said, putting her back to a tree and crossing her arms. “I know you're here. Enough games.”

Lux waited the suspicion out and slowly made her way forward until they were right in front of each other.

Without warning, Quinn sighed and pushed herself away from the tree. Lux didn't react in time – her invisibility had been active so long that standing was becoming uncomfortable, yet alone reacting – and they collided. She was hardly surprised when Quinn reacted right away, first reaching for a weapon, and then recognizing Lux and reaching for her, wrapping an arm around her and stopping her fall.

“Oh,” Lux said. “Hi.”

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” She’d had some ideas – playing with Quinn's hair, tickling her, whispering in her ear – but maybe it was best that she didn't get the chance.

When Quinn pulled away, Lux stumbled.

“Hold me for a minute,” she said, her face heating up only after she realized how intimate it sounded. Thankfully, no one else was around except for the horses.

“What?” Quinn said, sounding weary but re-offering her support nevertheless.

“I used a lot of magic,” Lux explained. “I still feel a little unsteady.”

It was a half lie, but Quinn only hesitated a moment before offering her support. Again, Lux was taking advantage of Quinn. She could have just as easily sat down, or leaned against a tree like Quinn had been doing a moment earlier, but she was being needy.

It reminded her of the field outside Senta. They’d been so close,the alcohol had taken over the moment, and she nearly went too far. But it was Quinn’s fault, bringing her out there like that.

_You're on our side, right?_ She wanted to ask. _On my side?_

She heard the whistling of wind a split second before receiving a face full of feathers. For a bird, Valor showed no signs of fragility as he dove in between them, thrust his wings out, and separated them. Apparently he didn’t like other people getting too close to Quinn. She tried to take it in stride, and laughed it off.

Quinn cleared her throat. “Well?”

“Well what?” Lux said.

“The chief – he lied?”

“It was nothing,” Lux rushed to said. “I guess I was wrong.”

Quinn turned west, towards the capital. “If they haven't been attacked by the wyvern yet, then nobody knows where it is, or how strong it is.”

There was more that felt unsaid. That was a common theme with Quinn, even if she was much more talkative and open than when they first met.

“We need to keep going,” Lux said. The chief's insistence had somehow infected her, and now she needed to see what was going to happen.

“The capital,” Quinn agreed, returning to her horse.

Valor squawked and took flight, leading the way.

 

“I’m going to hop in the river,” Quinn said.

Hearing the words was enough to make Lux shiver. “Don’t catch a cold.”

“Never do.”

With Quinn gone, Lux walked around the campsite. It was a fresh morning and they were well rested. Elm and Elalah were already fed, watered, and ready to go, so she didn’t have anything to do. Twice, in the ten minutes she was stretching her legs, an unsavory act came to mind, and each time she managed to dismiss it because she considered herself a halfway decent person. The third time it came to mind, the idea was overwritten by something on the ground. Lux knelt down and examined the plant.

_Larkspur_.

Quinn had shown her poison that acted within minutes, and would paralyze its victim. It was silly, but Lux knew the basics of alchemy, and Larkspur could potentially act as the base for a potion that would have a similar effect as to what happened to High Summoner Irvine. Of course, many other poisons could have qualified, but Larkspur was probably the fastest acting.

A coincidence. Quinn was no alchemist plotting the downfall of Demacia, the Institute of War, and by extension, all of Runeterra.

A new idea, equally as bad – though involving Quinn’s belongings, and not Quinn herself – came to mind. It had been an observation Lux had dismissed a few times on the trip, but Quinn seemed to keep her backpack unusually close.

Lux checked the skies. It was clear of any clever birds. Opening the pack and beginning to rifling through it, she desperately hoped it would all be nothing but a guilt rousing venture.

_So much for ripping up all the pictures_ , she thought as she pushed aside a dozen pictures of herself. Still, she couldn’t help but smile. It had to mean something, right? Just like the meteor shower. _Something_.

Aside from daggers and spices – which Quinn had shared last night to make the meat more edible – the main pocket hold nothing else of interest. She tried the side pocket next, and even as she opened it she knew it held secrets.

She ignored the Nadir coin in favor of one of the pieces of paper. Carefully, she pulled it out, unfolded it, and was met with a familiar face. It was a drawing of a man, in a slightly ominous art style, and she’d met him somewhere before, but couldn’t quite remember where. He seemed older, and his features argued towards Demacian descent, but Lux couldn’t figure out why in Runeterra there was a picture of the man in Quinn’s bag.

Fiancé? Lover? Not possible. Absolutely no way.

Upon closer inspection, the ominous aspect of the drawing revealed itself to her – it was drawn in blood. She dropped the picture in horror. That was something only weird cultists did. The paper fluttered to the ground and landed on its back, revealing one last secret. There was handwriting on a corner of the back of the paper. Rather than touch it again, she leaned down to read the words.

_Dear sister,_

Y _ou have my blood. The truth awaits in Piltover, with a man named Varma._

_P.S. I recommend you stay away from Zaun, if you do decide to do any travelling in the east._

_-with love, Evaine_

LeBlanc’s full name was Evaine LeBlanc. It hardly seemed like a coincidence, but still, any relation between the two of them was laughable. They were Demacian and Noxian – as far apart as two people could be.

Bad. Still very bad.

Dreams were supposed to be fleeting and easily forgettable, but once again, the baby Katarina and Cassiopeia came to mind. It seemed less insane each time she thought about it.

And _Carrigan_. Nadine Carrigan, Quinn’s teacher. Was now not a good time to remember that Carrigan was a Noxian surname, not Demacian? Quinn’s teacher hadn’t been suspicious at the time, but now Lux found herself reevaluating everything. She’d suffered from severe paranoia before, on missions, but she wasn’t even on a mission yet.

Looking down at the paper, her mind racing, the only warning she had was the sound of footsteps. Fumbling, she stuffed it back into the small compartment of the backpack and zipped it up.

“What are you doing?” Quinn said.

“I – uh – I'm sorry. I was hungry.”

“And you thought I was hiding food in my pack?”

“Maybe,” she said, as teasingly as she could.

“Well, I'm not.” Quinn picked her backpack up and closed it. “Let’s go.”

As though he knew of Lux’s misgivings, Valor kept closer to them as they rejoined the north road. It was half a day’s ride to the capital, but Lux’s mind wouldn’t wait. It kept going over everything Quinn had said and done, looking for more hints to the truth.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore what she’d heard from the village chief. Was Quinn really indifferent towards Demacia, or was there actual animosity towards the nation hidden in her?

“Hey Quinn?” she said when the road became lined with fertile land and inns. “Can you tell me about your family?”

“Why do you care? They aren’t anything special.”

“I heard what your teacher said,” Lux said. “Is it true you never visited them? Not even once?

“What do you want to know? I'm from a peasant family. My dad ran a farm and my mom a small bakery – which I suppose is relatively well off, for living in the village, but they aren't very interesting people.”

“Not very interesting? How can you say that? They're your own parents.”

Quinn shrugged. “Elalah,” she said, and the horse picked up pace. “We’re scouting ahead.”

There was nothing to scout, but they both knew that already.

 

Lux left the castle with a skip in her step, drawing stares but still unable to stop her smiling. There was a bit of nervousness too – so much room for disaster – but she was secretly thankful to the King. He had shown a measure of trust in Quinn, and Quinn had behaved normally, and it felt like even with all the incriminating evidence that Lux was finding – perhaps it was all imaginary, concocted by her paranoia – that it would all be fine after all.

To the King, it was an efficient plan with redundancy built in, but Lux saw it as an opportunity to go on an adventure with Quinn, away from the nation and politics. She wanted to head directly to the port and jump on the boat, but knew there was other stuff to be done before departing. For now, she would temper herself, and visit with her mother. It had been too long since they’d sat in the tea chamber and caught up.

It only took her a few minutes to arrive at the Crownguard residence, and beyond the uncomfortable stares of their servants, she found her mother tucked away in a small corner of the library, reading an old book on wine brewing. Helen was a headstrong woman with hair like Lux and large reading glasses Lux hoped she’d never have towear. Sitting on a stool next to the bookshelf, she held the book in one hand, and a candle in another.

“Hello, mother,” Lux said, leaning forward and blowing out the candle. “What have we told you about bringing open flames into the library?”

“Luxanna, you're back.”Helen slid off the stool and set the candle and book aside. She motioned closer with both hands.

“Yes, mother, I’m back.”

The hug was quick, as her mother broke it off to set about examining every inch of her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, mother. The papers exaggerated it, like they always do.”

“It is _not_ possible to exaggerate such a disaster, Luxanna.”

Lux smiled innocently in response.

“It’s about time you’ve gotten away from that place,” her mother continued. “I saw the announcement. An ice princess. It’s horrendous news. I don’t understand how anyone could want to live there. How are you? How have you been doing?”

“I'm fine, mother. I’m fine.”

“Eating properly?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Good, good. I'll have the maid prepare your room. Stay until the Freljordian tournament is over. There aren't any Demacian matches are there? They've all been put on hold for the North's business?”

“They have, mother.”

Helen placed both hands on her shoulder. Her grip was tight, and Lux couldn't look away.

“You said everything was fine – did I not teach you better than to lie?”

“I'm sorry, mother. Everything is fine. It’s fine, it's just, the king has an assignment for me. I can’t stay more than a night.”

“You'll be leaving again? Those missions must be so lonely and so dangerous. Perhaps I'll talk to him and see if he can't find someone else to do it.”

“Please don't, mother. You'd best use your influence elsewhere. Besides, I won't be going alone. Quinn will be accompanying me.”

“Quinn?” Helen said, tapping her chin. “Attridge? You can’t mean the one who accused your brother – _our family_ – of treason? That uncivilized girl from the hinterlands? Just what is the King thinking? Sergeant First Class or not, she’s a disgrace to Demacia. You shouldn't get too close to people like her.”

She _was_ showing restraint – in public, at least – but she knew if she tried to explain, it would only end even worse.

Being from a noble family, she was lucky her mother didn't put as much pressure on her as she did. Lux was free to marry whomever she wanted, or not marry at all, and she was free to do what she wanted in private. The League and her duties to the king, by way of service in the military, was her public life, and she took great care of it as to not disappoint her parents or shame the family name.

“Yes, mother,” she said, biting back a rebuttal.

“Good, good. Will you at least be staying the night?”

“Maybe.”

“Fiora's brother was asking about you. He's a very nice young man. Stay the night, have breakfast with him tomorrow before you leave.”

Lux could hear the hopefulness in her voice. She hated to, but if her mother kept trying, she would have to keep disappointing.

“He doesn't interest me, mother.”

Helen shook her head. “I thought not. You're growing older, Luxanna. You need to marry eventually.”

“And what about Garen?” Lux challenged.

“Garen? He's... you're right.” Helen sighed, the crinkling of her forehead a reminder of her age. “I'm sorry. He's just so stubborn. Married to Demacia even more than your father. I was hoping I'd have more luck with you. You know how much your mother wants grandchildren.”

“I'm sorry, mother.”

“No, don't be. Do your job and come home safely. You won't be needed at the League of Legends for almost two months – come spend some time at home when you complete your mission.”

“Yes, mother.”

 

It was getting late, and the castle was getting quiet, but Lux knew the Prince would still be around somewhere, handling business with someone. She had a few questions about the teleportation crystals they had been provided with, and Prince Jarvan would be able to redirect her to the mage who had created them.

She took half a step into the hall before realizing something odd was at play. Three people in the middle of the hallway, huddled together in close quarters and whispering. The atmosphere of the room was volatile, like a bomb ready to explode. It was an odd place to form a meeting, so Lux suspected it was impromptu, and definitely not meant for the ears of others.

Prince Jarvan wasn't the tallest member of the group. By his side, a woman with blemished gray skin and amber eyes like a cat, glinting in the room's darkness. She seemed almost disinterested in the conversation, and was focused entirely on the Prince. One of her hands was resting on his back, moving in a circular motion, as though giving him a massage. He paid the contact no heed, probably because he was too busy fuming at the other person in their secret meeting.

Fiora, measuring much shorter than the half-dragon and the Prince, managed to still look dignified. She held her chin high, as she stared into his eyes, waiting for a response. Her hands were clasped behind her back, like a Noxian soldier standing at attention, and though her hands were hidden from the view of Jarvan and Shyvana, Lux could see very well how she never stopped moving them. One moment, she would be stretching her fingers out individually, as if testing they weren't broken, and the next she would be digging her fingernails into her palms to such a degree that it looked painful. She must have been under intense pressure, because the entire thing seemed completely subconscious.

Prince Jarvan tapped his left foot on the ground to some invisible metronome. Lux didn't know his habits very well, but she'd seen him do it at other times, when stressed. It was as though he wanted to kick and punch at his problems until they all went away. His brows were furrowed deep in thought, and Lux took a few steps closer, making sure to stay quiet.

“You have the audacity to confront me about this, now, after all that has happened?” the Prince said.

“I had imagined a different outcome,” Fiora said, not cowering when Lux most certainly would have.

“I want the whole story. Don't leave anything out.”

“It started seven weeks ago.”

Prince Jarvan groaned.

“What happened was intentional,” she said, making eye contact with the Prince. “ _Une partie du plan._ I wanted to scare her – to make her leave. My intuition was that she would disappear, and the problem would be solved that way. And it worked – _pour un peu_. Then, for some unimaginable reason, she showed up in Senta and joined the League of Legends. It is honestly the worst thing she could 'ave done.”

“You read her well,” Shyvana said in a throaty voice.

“Not well enough,” Fiora responded, looking slightly surprised that Shyvana spoke. “It was around then, I met some people. We devised a plan. They wanted her dead, by bomb.”

Lux then realized the reason Fiora kept her hands occupied – it was so she couldn't defend herself. If it hadn't been for the loud echo of the slap, Lux wouldn't have believed what she saw, or heard. Prince Jarvan hit her, unrestrained, across the cheek. Fiora had shut her eyes, but hadn't moved in the slightest to avoid it, and she was now staring off towards the wall – the direction Jarvan's strike had knocked her.

“Unacceptable,” he roared. “Quinn is a Sergeant First Class of the Royal Demacian Army – she is an invaluable asset to the kingdom! You are not the one who decides whether she lives or dies. It is not your right!”

Shyvana leaned in, whispering something to him. He pushed her away.

“My point stands,” he hissed, before turning on Fiora again. “Why do you think I promoted her, in the first place?”

Fiora eyed Shyvana. “ _Je ne sais pas_.”

“A dead commoner doesn't do us any good. Every lower class citizen knows her name, and she has done a great deal for our nation.”

“But a commoner, nonetheless. Living near the noble families, attending military banquets, fraternizing with the Prince-”

“She is exactly where she needs to be,” Jarvan said. “Unless you want to be responsible for the start of another uprising, you will forget any silly notions of purity, and keep a low profile until this is all over.”

“I came to you because I _can't_ ,” Fiora said. “I didn't act alone, and I fear they might get restless.”

“Yes, you mentioned that.”Jarvan sighed, his feet tapping everpresent. “Who are 'they'? Who else was involved in this?”

“I only know of three of them. _Ils sont des hommes importants_. And I suspect they're acting on behalf of a larger group.”

“Are they part of Dart's uprising? Is their plan to kill Quinn – use her as a martyr?”

“As far as I know, they aren't involved with the uprising. These people are quite opposed to it, _j'imagine_. You see, they're all educated men. Scientists.”

Nobody spoke for a moment, and when Fiora didn't elaborate, the Prince did a double-take.

“Scientists?”

“Engineers, too, _je pense_. Chemists, biologists. _Docteurs_. They were the ones who operated on Quinn, after the Paz Disaster. That is where they first took interest in her, _j'imagine_.”

Prince Jarvan brought an arm up to wipe his forehead. “You're telling me there's a faction of highly intelligent men working against us, right under the King's nose? And? What’s their goal?”

His willingness to take her word for it and move on with the conversation wasn't altogether surprising. Demacia wasn't a perfect nation, and with the number of people working for the King, it was inevitable there would be people who didn't have the nation's best interests at heart. On more than one occasion, the King had ordered Lux to spy on his own people.

“From what I understand, they want progress. Technological, scientific progress. Supposedly, their leader, as a child, saw into another dimension, and it was a foreign land. Large buildings, hundreds of stories tall, and some were floating – moving and weaving around each other, and there were flying carriages and – and dragons, too.” Shyvana didn't react, beyond pulling her hand away from the prince. “A utopia, he called it, and it drove him to create this faction, _que j'ai nommé les Docteurs_.”

“The Doctors. And? What do they want?” Jarvan said.

“What do you think they want? What drives innovation and the economy forward, like nothing else?”

“War,” the prince breathed.

Fiora nodded. “ _Oui. La guerre._ They've somehow decided that Quinn's death is vital for war to happen.”

“No, that makes no sense. It would hurt Demacia, but a civil war isn't what they would want. A war against Noxus, maybe.”

“Remember who they are. These are intelligent men, and I don't think their plan is single-faceted.”

“You said you know three of them. Names. Now.”

“Clift Desmond.”

“He’s one of the king's closest advisors.”

“Kaiser Mandel.”

“Head surgeon at the hospital,” Jarvan said, his foot tapping growing louder.

“Axel Botello.”

“Chief engineer of the castle's west wing renovation last year. These are grave accusations you are making.”

“ _Vous ne me croyez pas_?” Fiora said.

“I believe you. I wish I didn't, but I can't ignore it. Clift has always aggressively pushed for war, and there exist rumours of him having some grand agenda that extends beyond Demacia's success. Axel has always been an odd man. He doesn't communicate well with people outside of his field. The exception to that is, unfortunately, Kaiser. These aren’t men I would trust, not more than you. With the increased activity around the Dart rebellion, we'll be stretching our forces thin, but still, this warrants investigation.”

For the first time since she was slapped, Fiora rose a hand to tenderly touch her cheek.

“For the mean time, remain in the capital,” the Prince said. “Put your vendetta against Quinn on hold. If need be, things can be resolved in the Hall of Blades, at a later date. House Laurent is one of the oldest families in Demacia – one we cannot lose – and despite your crimes, you've been a loyal friend to me for years. This matter... we shall keep it under wraps.”


	29. House Keeping

Lux went from talkative to quiet to gloomy throughout the day, and by the time they reached the capital, she was sulking. The prospect of meeting the King, however, was enough of a distraction that Quinn never thought to ask what was wrong.

At the city gates, the security was much stricter than usual, and once through, they immediately set about hearing recent news of the nation. The rebellion had lost three leaders in the past weeks, but all of them decoys. The real person, the puppeteer behind the scenes, wasn’t so easy to find.

People could no longer enter the capital without a valid reason. The strain between lower class and higher class was reaching a breaking point, and the prisons were overflowing with criminals – rebels, rioters, and the just plain rowdy.

Overflowing? Quinn had said. What were they doing with the new criminals, then?

_Disappeared_ , the information broker told them. They were disappeared, just like the last time rebellion threatened the nation. It was the cleanest solution at hand, for the Lightshield family.

 

The King's Court was the only place in the world where the King had to use his brains. His other public appearances were memorized speeches that were crafted and vetted by specialists. There were people for economic decisions, military decisions, political decisions – that was to say, hide within the nation's borders – and every other possible aspect of ruling a nation. Of course, the King could ignore these people and do whatever he liked and they would still follow the royal family.

The court was primarily used for escalated issues that couldn't be resolved by the King's minions. Rarely, this meant crime. It was usually land usage and importing and exporting controversial products.

Once at the door, Lux was told to wait, while Quinn and Valor were shown in.

Long ago, Valor had been ordered not to fly within the King's presence. He hadn't been too happy about the restriction, which had struck Quinn as odd since she’d thought a Demacian eagle, of all creatures, would respect the King. That may have been another source of the ire Quinn felt towards the monarchy. If Valor didn't have much respect for the King, thenneither should she.

“Sergeant Attridge,” the King said from his aureate throne.

She knelt and bowed her head. “Your Majesty.”

The first time they had met, she hadn't been versed in the proper conduct, and it had been quite embarrassing. This time, she knew the words and motions, and waited until the King said “rise” before she raised her head and stood.

Standing to the King's left was a familiar face. Xin Zhao was a champion of the League of Legends, but he spent more time at the King's side than in Senta. Some people whispered that he was even more trusted than the King's son. His eyes appraised Quinn silently. She was a threat, nothing more, nothing less. It was always an impassive expression on his face, no matter how familiar the person was in front of him. Though maybe with people out there like LeBlanc, it was a necessity. Still, Quinn had never seen him smile and was quite sure he had no friends.

On the King's right, an assembly of unfamiliar men. Advisors and politicians, most likely.

The King spoke, his words crisp and echoing in the large chamber. “I have had some time to come to terms with your disappearance, reappearance, and entry into the League of Legends. But before those matters, I must ask if you been briefed on the current situation in Demacia, involving the revolts?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“And what is your opinion on this matter?”

Quinn hesitated. “Your Majesty?”

“Are their concerns valid? How would you solve the present issues?”

_Do away with the monarchy and the royal family, and create a council to govern Demacia, like practically every other nation in Runeterra has been doing for decades. And screw the noble family thing, too. They deserve no more privileges than the rest of us._

But that was an excellent way to go missing. Instead of thinking about an answer, Quinn spent some time thinking about how to arrange her non-answer.

“I am not familiar with the politics involved,” she said slowly. “So I feel I cannot give a proper response, your Majesty.”

The King stroked his armrest for a moment. “I understand. These matters are complicated. Let us discuss something more relevant to you. The night of June sixteenth, an attempt was made on your life, and you made egregious accusations of Garen Crownguard. Fortunately, few were present at the time, and Garen has chosen not to pursue the matter any further. However, the fact remains that you have insulted a noble family, and deserted your post that same night. What have you to say in your defense?”

Amazingly, in the past month Quinn hadn't given a single thought to how she would answer such a question. It blindsided her; she had expected to be given a punishment, to serve it quietly, and then to carry on with her life.

Normally when caught off guard, she would have stuttered and ended with a nonsense answer, but since entering the presence of the King, she'd kept her mouth closed tightly until she knew exactly what to say. The King didn't seem to mind her long pauses before answering, so she took her time, and came to a conclusion. She would test the waters.

“Nothing has changed since that night,” Quinn said. “I still believe Garen Crownguard is responsible for the attempt on my life, and I left the capital for my own safety, your Majesty.”

“This is not a defense,” the King said. “This is an attack. I will not condemn your decision, but it brings along more difficulties, which are ill-timed, considering the current state of the nation. There is a Crownguard just outside this door. Shall I bring her in, to continue this conversation?”

“My issue is with Garen Crownguard, not Luxanna, your Majesty.”

“Indeed,” he said, nodding after a moment. “I have heard you two have recently become close friends.”

Quinn didn't speak into the silence. He hadn't asked a question, and the less she said, the better she felt.

“Even so,” he carried on. “You suspect her brother of trying to kill you?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” she said. It had to have been a Demacian, and though she had Kaiser’s name, she didn’t know if he’d been responsible for both attempts on her life. Until she knew otherwise, it was Garen’s failure in the capital, and Kaiser’s in Senta.

“I should hope this friendship is genuine, and not developed for other reasons.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

The King tapped the armrest of his throne. “Bring her in.”

Quinn shouldn’t have, but she panicked a little. There was always the possibility she’d been misled, and Lux would enter, denounce her, and challenge her to some sort of duel to the death to settle matters once and for all. This time, against all her efforts, she sputtered and half rose her hands in protest, but the King stared down at her from his throne, uninterested in her objection.

But it wasn't the main doors that were opened. A smaller door on the side of the room opened, and behind it, there was no Crownguard.

There was a cat.

_A cat._

A Shuriman cat. With a light brown coat, and black tipped paws and tail. And the cat took a step into the room, looking around lazily. It sat down, licked its paw a couple times, and then stood again to slowly walk towards the King. Once in front of the throne, it didn't hesitate. The cat leapt up onto the armrest, turned around to face the rest of the room, and lied down.

It yawned, and the King petted it.

Valor was watching the new prey with great interest, and Quinn was watching with great confusion, but to her it seemed like the cat really did belong there, and after accepting that the cat was actually there, she half-turned to Valor, because she was beginning to question her senses.

No, it didn't really occur to her that she was dreaming, but Valor still graciously hopped over and pecked her leg.

Most everyone else in the room took this development in stride, though she caught a few people staring at her entertained. The King had a cat, apparently. Somehow this detail had eluded Quinn until now.

And then she wondered if the timing on the King's part had been intentional, but came to the conclusion that he had zero sense of humour and couldn't have known she didn't know about the cat. It was just one of those moments where something completely unexpected happened and she needed to take it in stride.

“I will reiterate, this is not the time to choose a fight with the Crownguards,” the King said. “You will put this matter aside until the revolts have been quelled.”

She waited for him to continue, and he did after a moment of petting his cat.

“There remains the fact that you had many alternatives to disappearing. Your choice to disappear has upset a great many people. However, by my previous reasoning, I believe now is not the time to pass punishment. I have come to a conclusion that I believe is fair. The mission I am about to assign you is of great importance. Pending a successful and timely return from this mission, I will absolve you of your crimes. Additionally, your parents will stay here, in the capital, until your return. Worry not, they'll be safe from any dangers, under the guard of my men.”

She spared a look to Valor. He looked quite serious, as opposed to when the cat had entered. The veiled threat wasn't something only she had heard.

“Sirs,” the King said,addressing his men. “I must ask you to step outside. Please admit Luxanna Crownguard on your way out.”

After the reshuffling of people – the cat remaining, obviously – Lux ended up standing next to her, eyes focused on His Majesty and a notable lack of a smile on her face.

“Bilgewater,” the King continued, speaking to a much smaller room. He gave a moment for the word to sink in. “We have had strong trade with this nation for many years, and through these ties, we find certain pieces of information making their way across the waters. Recently, we have heard of a man's presence on this island nation, and we wish to clarify these rumours. He is ex-Noxian General Marcus Du Couteau, and they say he is alive. Luxanna Crownguard, you are to go to Bilgewater, verify these rumours, and should they prove true, hunt down and assassinate Marcus Du Couteau.

“Yes, your Majesty,” Lux said, a little stiff but otherwise calm and collected.

Quinn was marginally less collected, and Xin Zhao’s eyes locked onto her when her eyes widened. Surprise was a reasonable reaction when faced with such a preposterous rumour, she hoped.

The more she heard Marcus Du Couteau’s name, the less human he seemed. When they had met, he was a charismatic and fair man, but whenever anyone spoke his name, it was always with disgust, like it were a string of profanity. But Quinn was able to look past this disgust, and begin adding questions of her own to the pile surrounding the man.

He was alive, so this rumour had a stronger basis to her than most others. What was he doing in Bilgewater? Barring the unexpected encounter in the forests near Freljord, Quinn imagined he was a man who was only found when he wanted. To what ends did he allow himself to be spotted in Bilgewater?

“There is another man of interest,” the King said. “But whom we know for certain is located in Bilgewater. We believe he holds valuable information pertaining to the safety of Demacia, and his life is in danger. He is another man everyone here knows: Rayburn Cardwell. Quinn Attridge, you are to go to Bilgewater, find and secure Cardwell, and bring him back to Demacia.”

No, Quinn was not familiar with the name, thanks for asking.

Still, she felt as though this information was highly confidential, and was the reason everyone butXin Zhao and the cat had left. She could only hope Cardwell was willing to be extracted, and this wasn't some kind of kidnapping she was being assigned. She had never done a kidnapping before.

“Yes, your Majesty,” she said nonetheless. It might have been her imagination, but Lux seemed to relax a little upon hearing her response.

“I hope any issues between the two of you will not prove problematic, because we have arranged transport for tomorrow morning, aboard a merchant cargo ship destined for Bilgewater. I would like you to draw as little attention as possible to your missions. Additionally, you will assist each other if necessary, and should either of you fail prematurely, the other will take responsibility for completing both tasks.”

 

Outside the court, Prince Jarvan was speaking with a man. When he noticed them approach, he quickly ended the conversation and greeted them.

“Excellent. We were expecting you today,” he said.

Valor responded with an immediate caw, and Quinn cracked a smile. The bird had his priorities in line.

“What’s the cat’s name?” Quinn asked on his behalf.

“Please, Quinn,” the Prince admonished. “We have more important matters to discuss.”

“Sorry, sir,” Quinn said, just barely managing to wipe the smile off her face. “Valor wants to know something else, too. Probably more important. Who is Rayburn Cardwell?”

Assumably, Valor _did_ want to know, but that didn’t stop him from snapping at her ankles.

Prince Jarvan sighed. “Rayburn Cardwell is one of the original High Summoners. Some would say that, in his day, he was the most powerful mage in the world.”

“And he’s not going to have a problem with being whisked away to Demacia?”

“You bring up a good point, but do not worry,” Jarvan said, handing her an envelope. “Deliver this to him. He and the King are friends. He’ll understand.”

She pocketed the envelope, and the three of them walked down the hall. Jarvan began briefing them on the details.

When he offered them their twenty-five gold coin allocation for the mission, it was with unspoken agreement that Lux took the money.

“It’s not much,” Jarvan said, “but we’ve already arranged transport to Bilgewater via the merchant ship Barrow, which leaves at sunrise tomorrow. All you need is to buy passage on a boat to Piltover once you’re done in Bilgewater.”

“Piltover?” Lux said. “Why Piltover?”

The Prince offered her the leather bag he’d been holding. She took it, peeked inside, and then showed Quinn.

Four bluish crystals. She immediately didn’t like them.

“Teleportation crystals,” he said, reinforcing her initial feelings. “You will bring them to Piltover’s Demacian ambassador, Mason. He will return you here.

“Why not just teleport there and back?” Quinn said.“It would save lots of time.”

“The crystals themselves can’t be teleported. If you teleport there, you would have to travel back. The King believes that would put Rayburn at too much of a risk. Sorry Lux – even if these Du Couteau rumours turn out to be worth our time, the trail might be cold by the time you get there.”

“It’s fine,” Lux said. “Fine.”

“Quinn,” Jarvan said. “Have you been to visit your parents, yet?”

“No. What happened to Everridge? It was attacked?”

The Prince nodded. “A Shadow Isles monster, recently dubbed Guillotine, attacked. It was a random attack, as far as we can tell, but it left some dark magic behind. The village isn't livable until we dispatch enchanters to clean it up.”

“When will that be?”

“Not any time soon,” the Prince admitted. “We have our hands full, and can't afford to put our enchanters at risk by leaving the capital.”

What was that? Were they so scared they couldn't even leave the safety of their walls? If not for Caleb's grave being in Everridge, she might have felt a small hint of delight at their fear. In a roundabout way, they were coming to respect the working class.

“And Guillotine?”

“He's disappeared. But like a slug, he's oozing dark magic, and there's a trail to follow.”

“I'll do it,” Quinn said.

“We already have a job,” Lux reminded her. “Besides, he’s too dangerous for you. If the info is right, though, he’s something my magic could handle.”

 

“Milky,” Lux said once they were alone.

“Huh?”

“The King’s cat is Milky. We should go to the port tonight and meet the captain of Barrow. Or at least, I would like to speak with him before we leave.”

“Sure,” Quinn said. “I have some stuff to do first. Meet at the port in two hours?”

“That sounds good. Two hours then.” She took a few steps away before turning around. “And, Quinn, good luck.”

Quinn was not going to see her parents. That decision had been relatively easy to make. Even years later, she was still causing them trouble, and she probably wouldn’t even recognize them. Instead, she stepped outside of the castle and took a moment to herself.

Demacia, again. Even if it wasn't home, it was familiar.

She closed her eyes. The air tasted sweet and Valor flew close, and she exhaled deeply, letting the city seep into her, revealing to her its subtle inner workings. Behind her, a cart of apples was passing through the castle gates and she listened for a moment as the guards gave the merchant a hard time. Then she heard the _whoosh_ of Valor swooping into a back alley – in pursuit of mice or rats, or perhaps bigger prey, she couldn't tell – and then there was the sound of laughing children, a staple ingredient to a typical city center.

Unfortunately, Quinn's understanding of the city dynamics had to change, since becoming a champion of the League of Legends. People were watching her. Many more than usual. Which were threats, and which were curious? She set a quick pace away from the castle, hoping to reduce the eyes on her.

At her house, Valor flew up to the chimney and did a sharp circle around it, returning with the key which he dropped two stories down into Quinn's waiting hand. With a muttered "thanks", she opened the door. The key still worked, and she couldn't quite say why she was so surprised.

It was half a step inside when Quinn saw the oddity. On the hardwood floor, there was a dark patch. She'd seen enough of it in her lifetime to immediately know it was blood, and she stepped back outside, crouched down, and listened. Was returning home too reckless? If the bomber wanted a second chance at her, did he assume she was stupid enough to not learn from last time? It was dead quiet inside, and no hints of any powerful magic.

The rational thing would have been to walk away. She'd done that so many times, at so little cost. There wasn't even any pressing reason to enter; she'd wanted a few pieces of clothing she kept in the dresser, but even those could be replaced with the money the Institute of War had given her. No reason to take this chance.

_But damn them all to hell. Kaiser, Garen, everyone._

She took the first step inside with her sword at the ready. There was no bomb. The door opening would have otherwise set it off. Giving herself over to instincts – which had done well to keep her alive so far – she moved forward.

The blood was a trail. Someone injured had entered. They led directly to the steps, so that’s where Quinn went. She left the creaky door open, and the lights off, even though her presence was already announced from the moment she’d first opened the door.

The steps wanted to creak, and she did her best to keep them quiet by putting her weight as close to the walls as possible, but unless a drunk homeless person had made themselves cozy in her house, she would be at a disadvantage, come any fight.

But would a bleeding, homeless man really be stupid enough to break into a house on this street?

She hoped so.

If her eyes weren’t betraying her, the blood stains were growing in size. They were dried too – it wasn’t a recent occurrence, but prepared well in advance. The trail led directly to her room – the largest of the house – and she stood up straight, deciding that if these were her last moments, she wanted to at least be standing level with her enemy. A failed assassin and a failed bomb – what was next for the Garen-Kaiser squad? If he was the incompetent he’d proven himself to be so far, it certainly would be interesting.

With her sword at the ready, she swung the door to her room open.

It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing. Sunlight filtered in through a wide open window. Valor was on her bed, perched there patiently, and on the floor next to the bed, a large stain. For a moment, she felt oddly disconnected from her body as she remembered the night seven weeks ago, and then she was on her hands and knees, breathing hard and quick, as though she’d ran up a hundred flights of stairs.

Her stomach twisted, and she regretted coming back to Demacia.Her parents be damned. They could fend for themselves. She’d paid what she owned them ten times over. Now, all she was left with was a decaying sanity and festering paranoia.

She wiped at her forehead with the back of her hand and looked up. A few minutes passed before she began to feel a return of control to her body.

Valor was staring at her with a look she decided to interpret as concern, rather than pity.

"Val," she said, now walking through the room and taking her time. "I'm fine. Just forgot. Wasn't a night worth remembering, really."

It wasn’t one of her finest moments – self-preservation was a powerful instinct.

She passed around the dried fluids staining her floor and kicked her desk, groaning first in frustration and then in pain.

“I’m fine,” she said again, and it was more truthful than the first time. Pain always helped, as contradicting as it sounded.

Collapsing onto her chair, she noticed a long forgotten item on her desk. She picked it up.

_For your outstanding service to Demacia, the military bestows upon you the Demacia Cross._

Returning from Ionia, after the nation had finally caved and joined the League of Legends, it had been a small controversy of its own. She had received glares from almost every noble present as Prince Jarvan had given it to her.

There had been a watch, too, accompanying the cross. Noxian decorations often came with ornamental daggers, but Demacia had decided that was too crude.

She dug around in her desk until she found it. The watch was still ticking, and probably would be for many years to come. After a quick check to make sure it fit comfortably, she pocketed it. According to cartographers, south of the Great Barrier was considered the southern hemisphere, and the sun moved differently across the sky. That meant telling time based on the shadows would be something she had to relearn, and a watch was the perfect tool to make up for this complication.

 

Coboro Street was on the outskirts of the city, and as Quinn walked the roads – the differences between the outer and inner city not quite as dramatic as in Senta, but nonetheless noticeable – the pressure didn’t relent. People were watching her every movement, as she paused at the alleys and intersections. Eventually, the staring grew into apples offered by farmers, and teas by grandmothers, and then a subtle group of men formed and began following her, keeping the others at bay.

These men always put themselves between her and the city guards, and she realized it for what it was. They were protecting their voice, or so they thought. The confrontations were non-violent, but the tension was unmistakable. It seemed, despite her quick departure from the city before, news of the assassination attempt – and perhaps the one in Senta, too – had reached the ears of the common people. They were showing her support, and protecting her, and she knew she didn't have to act any different from before but she still felt apprehensive. It already made her long for the forest paths untravelled by man.

The recipient of Akali’s letter, Shadrick, was a heavyset man working in a swordsmith’s, which she quickly ducked into before starting a riot simply by existing. He recognized her immediately, and when he saw the letter in her hand, his expression grew into excitement, and his mouth opened like he was going to shout aloud. He tossed his hammer aside and waddled over.

“Oh ho ho,” he laughed, like he was meeting a long lost friend and couldn’t quite believe his eyes. “Quinn – Quinn Attridge – this – this-” He stopped and cleared his throat. It may have been an attempt to recollect himself, but his fat still quivered with excitement.

“A letter from the Kinkou Order,” Quinn said, unsettled by his reaction. “You were expecting one, I take it?”

“Yes. Heh. This is good. Hehehe.”

He began muttering under his breath, and she set the letter on the table quietly, like he was a wild animal she didn’t want to disturb. Next, she began taking slow steps backwards.

“Do you have a minute?” he said before she made it back out.

“Why?”

“Here,” the man motioned towards a door.

No matter how creepy he was, he wasn’t the least bit dangerous, so it was only with a little bit of trepidation that Quinn followed him. In the back room, the man waddled over to a table and began moving around items.

The place was an armoury, with weapons hanging from the walls, and armour stands – some empty, others with polished iron armour hanging on them – and then there was the table the man was working at. He finally pulled a sword free with a grunt.

“Tell me what you think of it,” he said, handing it over.

“Not good,” she said immediately. The man’s expression fell, and it took her a second to recognize her harsh and unconstructive critique. “Too light,” she elaborated. “I don't know what it's made of, but it doesn’t inspire trust. Length?”

“Forty-eight point five.”

“And what were you trying to make, exactly?”

“I was experimenting-”

“I can see that, but this is unusable.” Her first impression of the man had been swordsmith –because of the sign above the door – but now it was of a man who’d never lifted a hammer in his life. “Even the handle guard is dangerous. You can't take characteristics from three, four different swords, put it together, and expect it to work.”

On her way out of the building, she passed by another room which further made her wonder what exactly Shadrick’s occupation was. Inside, there was a wide assortment of magical trinkets. Though she wasn’t familiar with any of them, she could feel the magic emanating from the room.

 

There were much cheaper ways of accomplishing her goal, but none were as subtle and quick as a backstreet information broker. With only a name and picture to go on, Quinn expected it to take a few tries, but the haggard man covered in a patchwork blanket in the nearby back alley hardly blinked as he told her everything she needed to know.

Kaiser was very well known in the capital. A man with a knack for medicine, he could save those who were so far gone, dismembered and disfigured until they no longer seemed human, and it was always with modern science – no dark magic, like the doctors of Zaun and Noxus would resort to. A miracle worker, some called him. He was mixing magic and medicine in ways never seen before, and people from all around the world wanted to learn from him.

Ziggs and LeBlanc probably already knew who he was. That was why LeBlanc hadn’t seen the need to elaborate, and Ziggs hadn’t wanted to tell anyone but Quinn his name. She wouldn’t have expected subtlety from Ziggs, but it seemed the Yordle wasn’t as obvious of a read.

Kaiser’s celebrity status meant his address was easy to find – a disturbingly short walk from Quinn’s house – and thirty minutes later, Quinn was knocking at the door.

She heard quick footsteps and then the door opened to a little girl.

Quinn was speechless. She’d been ready for him, or maybe his wife, but a little girl?

“Hello,” she said, kneeling down. “Is your father home?”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You – you’re Quinn!”

“I am.”

“I see you on TV a bunch. Is Ashe your friend? Are you friends with a princess? I want to meet a princess.”

“She’s an acquaintance,” Quinn said, wondering why she was having so much trouble with a little girl. “Is your father Kaiser?”

The girl nodded, her long brown braids bouncing up and down. “He’s mentioned you before. You should come in. Let’s play! I have a big doll house.”

“Maybe another time,” Quinn said. “I need to speak with your father. Where is he?”

“At work,” the girl said. “He’s a doctor at the hospital! He saves people.”

Quinn thanked the girl and excused herself as quickly as possible. Her intention was now to confront him at his workplace, where he would be at a disadvantage.  Killing him, as earlier planned, might not have been necessary.  This was Lux’s influence, at work.  She would interrogate him, maybe casually mention she had dropped by his house, and maybe make some suggestions which would help them get along better. If he was as incompetent as he seemed, then that would be enough.

The plan, though mostly left open to improvisation, was shattered a little earlier than she’d been prepared for. Kaiser was more than a doctor. At the hospital, Quinn learned he was chief surgeon and was currently performing a difficult surgery on a baby girl born with complications – he wouldn’t be out for another five hours, at the earliest. Everybody at the hospital spoke like he was a hero, and she wondered – not for the first time – if maybe LeBlanc was playing her. Her and Ziggs could have been in it together – the Yordle’s sense of humour was twisted enough for it.

Without the time to sit around and wait, she dropped by his house again and left a message with the girl, promising she would be back. For now, let Kaiser live in fear. The mission from the King took priority.

 

Dogs on long leashes were being walked down the harbour. Their master gave them the liberty to go wherever they pleased and sniff whatever they wanted, so that’s what they did. Eventually, satisfied nothing shady was going on in the world’s largest port, they were returned to their kennels and their walker retired to a nearby commercial building. Quinn watched this, and the last minute rush to unload bulk shipments from the boats, to keep her mind from straying too far.

“You’re late,” she said when Lux arrived.

But Lux barely acknowledged her. She was concentrating on the ground, as though afraid she would misstep and fall. Before Quinn could properly get Lux’s attention, a man approached them.

“Miss Crownguard,” he said, and Lux turned to look at him, but she hardly seemed to see him. “My deepest apologies,” he went on, “but the Barrow will not be leaving port tonight. Nor tomorrow, or any time in the foreseeable future. The Captain has been seriously injured and he won’t let his ship leave port with anyone else in its command.”

He waited a moment, perhaps waiting for Lux to forgive him and say it wasn’t a big deal, but that never happened, and he looked desperately to Quinn.

“Okay,” Quinn said, though she found her attention was more on Lux than the immediate wall they’d hit in their mission.

He continued talking, maybe about alternatives, but when he realized they weren’t listening, he quietly made his exit.

“We'll need passage on another boat,” Quinn said, following a minute of silence. “We should ask Prince Jarvan.”

“No.” Lux looked up, finally showing signs of life.

“No?”

“I mean... I mean, no.” She shook her head. “We shouldn't bother him.”

“Then, what do you want to do?”

Lux was saved from answering by the arrival of an older man.

“Excuse me,” he said, easily breaking into the silence of the conversation. “I happened to overhear you were to be passengers on Barrow, but the captain has been injured? My name is Captain Gossimer, and I own the Lindini, a merchant ship that is heading out to Bilgewater tonight – well, _was_. The harbour’s usual allocated guardsmen have come down with sickness. It would be mutually beneficial if you were to join us. In return for protecting us against any unsavory visitors at sea, we would give you free food, board, and transportation to Bilgewater.”


	30. Insight: Akali, Part I

The room was oppressive.  

The dim lighting, the stale air, and the vastness of it all made it feel like she was being judged by the ancients.  She could only hope the ancients would treat her fairly, when they heard her voice.  

Across from her sat Shen, the oldest, most experienced.  On her right was the newbie.  He was a small Yordle by the name of Kennen.  And then there was herself, the first female of the Kinkou Order in decades, and a three year rookie of Pruning the Tree.

Despite the general inexperience at the table, neither she nor the Yordle felt any need to look up to Shen.  He would teach them what there was to teach, and he would leave them to figure out the rest themselves.  He trusted them, and they trusted him.  They were equals.

But still, they were under a great amount of pressure, gathered in the room and preparing themselves.  Kennen wasn’t coping too well.  He was stationed at the head of the table, with a piece of parchment in front of him.  As the youngest of the triumvirate, he was responsible for recording the votes.  His hands were trembling and she doubted he would be able to write a single legible word if he didn't calm down soon.

“Yes,” Akali said into the silence, because there was no more reason to delay.

Kennen's hand lurched, blotting the page before he regained control and wrote her response down.  And then it was his turn, and for a minute, his voice failed him.  Shen did not look impressed, but they waited.

“Yes,” he finally squeaked.

And there it was.  Two votes for, zero against.  No matter Shen's position, they would go to war.

He knew this, but still did not hesitate.  “No.”

Akali stood up as soon as Kennen finished writing.

“I'll inform our people,” she said.  “Shen, battle plans?”

“We'll depart in two hours,” he said, showing no signs of unwillingness.

 

Ionia was a beautiful nation.  Its wildlife was varied and it had innumerable flowering countrysides, and its architecture was pleasant on the eyes, never looking out of place in nature.  Buildings were small, often with redwood supports, gently curved roofs, and there was always one sort of statue or another displayed out front, intricately carved as though it held the soul of the mythical creature it portrayed.

The Placidium, and all its surrounding structures, were nothing of the sort.  They were colossal, gilded, and usually crowded with visitors – both domestic and tourist alike.  And it was normally clean, with waterfalls around the edges of the plaza, transforming into gentle creeks flowing beneath bridges and well-manicured grass where people picnicked and napped.  The plaza itself was constantly swept by magic, so dust and dirty shoes would never find home on the ground.

But today, things were different.

Today, the magic was busy elsewhere.

Today, blood, tears, and sweat stained the ground.

People were left, forgotten like flies that had succumbed to the heat.  They were coughing and wheezing and gasping and dead and crying.  That was the reality of war.  Bodies on the ground were rarely dead.  Nobody had time to bend down and finish the job – not when they were surrounded by more enemies to fight.  So she weaved in between these people, kicking aside hands that reached out for her, because despite the travesty that had befallen the area, the sounds of cries and shouts and metal clashing were distant, and that was where she could be the most help.

The battle had somehow been drawn over towards the amphitheatre.  There was seating for thousands of people, and it made for an uneven fight.  Moving around was difficult with the eighty levels of seating and the general incline, and it looked chaotic from where Akali stood.  She took a second to understand the flow of battle.  It was not pretty, but then again, it never was.

The Noxian soldiers worried her.  They weren't just there as fodder and meat shields for the magicians.  They were fearless, strong, and did not show pain.  They had been drugged, Akali realized, and that made every single one of them a powerful soldier in their own right.  Opium, used as a base by Singed for something more potent, most likely.  The Ionians were losing, and for a terrible moment, Akali thought it was all over.  This was their last stand, and the Kinkou Order had arrived too late.

Or rather,  _ would _ arrive too late.  Akali was several hours ahead of their main forces.

Nevertheless, it was time to join the battle and make what difference she could.

Her reinforcement alone could not stop the tide.  She wasn't enough, and she saw the moment everything ended and started anew again.  The defining moment; the shiver-inducing, world-questioning, life-ending moment.

It was Irelia, one of Ionia's most powerful fighters.  Training under Master Lito, her future was promising.  But she was too young.  Too immature.  Too unskilled.  Too ignorant.  This fight, the fight for her nation and the fight for her life, had come too soon.  Surrounded at the center of the amphitheatre stage, she swung her sword and shouted.  Her breath was raw and full of emotion, and it was so painfully obvious she wasn't ready to die.

Irelia knew this.  She knew there was more to life, and that she was facing an insurmountable obstacle, and that there was nothing to do but shout.  Shout, hear her own voice, and cherish the sound because it might be the last she would ever make.

There was no help to be had.  Nobody was coming to her side because there was nobody left.  All around her, Noxians moving in.  All around her, Ionians on the ground.  All around her, the inevitability of death.  She was alone.

And then there was the unavoidable reality, the human body’s limit, the ugly, visceral realization that her arms were too heavy, too slow, and suddenly, the sword in her hand which had always been reliable, was failing her.

A Noxian parried her attack and he saw the opening – and maybe he was surprised that he would be the one, because he hesitated – and then he thrust his sword into Irelia's chest.  Several things happened at once.  

Akali stopped to watch, the man she had been fighting a moment prior dead.  Irelia's sword clattered to the ground.  It was a sound that shouldn't have been audible, with all the metal clashing between them and the blood pounding in her ears, but the clanking of Irelia’s sword pierced Akali like it was the end of times.

From somewhere, a shout.

_ “No!” _

Akali tried to pinpoint it, but couldn't, and then didn't need to.  Magic erupted – an explosion – a bomb – desperation – an alien power that coursed through the battlefield, even as Irelia dropped to her knees, blood dripping from her wound and from her mouth.  She was dead, and whatever magic it was, it was too late.  Still, the magic, an arrow single-minded in heart and intent, knocked friend and foe aside as it raced through the amphitheatre and down towards the stage.

Irelia’s corpse fell over to its side at the same moment that the light arrived, and it ran through her, continuing even as it turned red and curved upwards, disappearing into the sky above.

The fights in the distance hadn't noticed this immense power, but everyone in the amphitheatre felt it and stopped what they were doing, no longer afraid of their opponents standing in front of them.  

The passage of time was indeterminable.  Maybe they might have stayed like this forever, watching the dead woman, but that was not necessary.

This was an ancient and respected amphitheatre, and it demanded a play.  A drama.  A tragedy with all the beats, a beautiful choreography, and three complete acts.  This was the opening of the third act.  The turn of the tide, the moment of surprise and disbelief.  Irelia, the beloved protagonist, had met her end, and now the scene prepared itself for the greatest deus ex machina of modern times.  

_ Set reality aside _ , the amphitheatre seemed to say,  _ because I have a gift for you _ .

The magic was gone, faded into the sky above, and there was a faint flicker of light – visible for only a fraction of a second – in the dead woman’s chest.  A few seconds passed of nothingness – a struggle against the presence of so many people.

And then that protagonist rose again.

She rolled to her side, and there was blood still pouring out of her wound like a leak in a ship, but to her it didn't matter.  To her, the most important thing was to wipe the blood away from her mouth.  Everybody watched because everybody wanted to know what exactly they would do, when they had died and came back to life – which would never happen to any of them.

Irelia climbed to her own two feet, and she was steady.  She looked around, and maybe her eyes passed over her saviour, or maybe they didn't, or maybe her eyes weren't seeing at all but  _ yes _ ,  _ yes _ they were, because they came to rest on her killer.

The man was not lucky.  It was not him.

His earlier hesitation might have been for divine reasons.  

In the silence, they could hear Irelia's head turn as she looked down at the ground.  Her sword, in a pool of her own blood.  Her fingers flexed, and nobody would have stopped her if she had bent down, picked it up, and stabbed the man in front of her.  

But as it turned out, she didn't need to.  Like she had decided it was too much effort, the action was circumvented.  The sword rose off the ground on its own accord.  It swiveled around, the hilt stopping next to Irelia's fingers, and the next step was so obvious.  Take hold of it, and stab her killer.

_ Take revenge. _

But it didn't play out like that.  

The director, the unknown and omniscient god who rose his protagonist from death, had other plans.

The sword cut the man at the waist.  It went through him effortlessly, like his spine was a blade of grass, and he might not have had time to accept his fate before he was dead, but the ease of the action wasn't the problem in anyone's mind.  It was that Irelia had never once touched the sword, nor moved even a single finger.

The sword moved and cut on its own accord, then.  That was the conclusion.

Until Irelia shouted.  It wasn't a human sound, but more like a lion's roar, unquestionably distraught.  Simultaneously, every abandoned sword rose up around her.  A thrumming filled the air.  The moment was palpable.  

_ There you go _ , the amphitheatre said.   _ Here it is.  Now fight. _

Nobody had ever said Noxians lacked bravery.  They answered the roar with yells of their own, and they charged.  And they were all cut down by Irelia's swords, which danced through the battle, finding fights and winning fights.  They were in harmony with each other but at discord with everything else.  The elegance of the swords were the very antithesis of their actions, as they continued to kill their opposition. 

With every dead Noxian, a new sword rose from the ground for Ionia, and like that, a battle line was formed.  The surviving Ionians rallied around the woman they all had earlier abandoned and all would eventually fear but didn't now because it was war, and the rate of bloodshed only seemed to increase as the battle wore on.

Later, as the remaining Noxians forces were being routed, Akali passed near Irelia's saviour, wondering if she should say anything.  Her mind was set, though, after seeing Soraka's wild expression.

“What have I done?” the woman said to no one.  She knelt down, placing her palms flat on the ground.  “Stars forgive me.”

Akali slinked back into the shadows.

With this, the battle for the capital would be over by the end of the day.  The Ionians would be granted a decisive victory, and the Noxians would be scrambling to recuperate.  

Would Soraka join in the celebrations tonight?  Probably not.  The Starchild would be left alone to ask herself, as though stuck in an endless loop,  _ but at what cost _ ?

 

Seven years had passed, but Noxians still lived and breathed in Ionia.  A disgrace, in the eyes of many.  An inevitability, to some.

The three southern provinces had been lost, and it was the still before another great battle.  A seven year still, first spurned on by Noxus’ need to recuperate from the lost Battle of the Placidium, and then extended by small skirmishes everywhere across the island.  

Militias in the west, raising their arms in the face of foes that vastly outnumbered themselves.  Monks leaving their temples on a pilgrimage, and then showing up in the middle of a Noxus encampment, releasing explosive dark arts.  Children disappearing from orphanages, carrying swords as long as they were tall, intent on avenging their parents.  Even the Dark Sovereign was participating in the chaos.  Since the Great Flattening, no Noxian General dared let his soldiers anywhere near the floating castle in the sky.

Some had said Noxus could move on the capital again at any time but there was no value to it because the three southern provinces were the wealthiest, and that was all that mattered to Noxians.  But since the disappearance of General Marcus Du Couteau, a year ago, it seemed a large scale confrontation was inevitable.  New government, new ideals.

The League of Legends had been created in recent years to resolve such conflicts, yet Ionia was so ridden with strife that they had not joined.  If they had all been of one mind, Karma could have submitted a formal request – which almost certainly wouldn’t be denied – and they could resolve matters through a combat of champions, but many Ionians were against giving power to a third party, and they wanted revenge for their slain kin.

And now, the Noxians were moving again.

The Navori region of Ionia was beautiful and serene, and this made it all the sadder.

Last week, Akali had watched the riverside temple of Minami, just a short walk from Ionia's southern trade hub, burn to the ground.  As the sun reached its zenith, she watched a plume of black smoke blot the sky, born from the ashes of scripts and historical texts.  For the first time in her life, Akali regretted who she was.  She wasn't weak, but that was how she felt, as she obeyed the Order and refrained from interfering.

People were dying as she stood idle, and it hurt to feel so useless.  But the Order didn't think on a small scope.  The lives of these people weren't important enough, if, ultimately, balance could be maintained.  So she would need to harden her resolve as she watched the Noxians march through her homeland, testing the shape of the front lines and the strength of the haphazard militias.

The information network was priority number one.  Keep it organized and keep the information flowing, and the Noxians and Ionians would eventually get the battle they all wanted, where bloodshed would be plenty and the battlefield would reek of the last breaths of fearless men.

For now, the Noxians were meeting little resistance.  They wouldn't be lulled into a false sense of security, though, because they were trained men, strong and wary and not so easily fooled.  It was a fault of the strong, however, to want to exert their power.  They would eventually lose interest in the defenseless temples and villages along the way, and their commanders, growing impatience for battle, would forgo killing the monks and raping the woman as they made steadfast progress towards the heart of the kingdom, where the real resistance lied in wait.

Do nothing, Akali thought, turning her back on the burning corpses of the village guards and the hanging bodies of the Men of God.

 

Akali watched as the Order's scout disappeared into the trees, carrying her message to Shen.  That was to be her social interactions for the day.  She would now catch up to the Noxians at the next farming village, Kai.  It had been several weeks since they stopped their scorched earth strategy – they believed their war was won, and any more damage they caused would only be hurting their own economy once they had settled their own people into the region.

It took half a day for her to arrive at the village, and only seconds for her understanding of war to be scorned by the reaper and shattered into a thousand pieces.

There was not a single Noxian soldier or tent present.

She walked the length of the village, slowly counting.  The houses hadn’t been damaged, except for the odd broken door.  At the last house, she stopped and turned back.  Cows, sheep, and chickens were all alive.  But that was it.

The entirety of the village was outside, lain perpendicular to the road, ordered from the tallest man to the youngest baby.  Like a reaper had torn through the village.  All executed, their mouths stretched wide open in rigor mortis.  She stood on the brink of an unforgettable horror, unable to understand.  Stunned, shaken, confused, she knelt down next to the body of a little girl, whose hand was outstretched.  Next to it, a doll, dirty and trodden on.  She picked it up and wiped some of the dirt off of it, before placing it back in the girl’s hand.

People died all the time in war.  Adults fought for their kingdom and died, but  _ children _ ?

What had transpired here?  What had evoked such rage in the Noxians?  She closed her eyes and took a large breath of air.  For once, she was thankful for her anosmia.  For all the lost scents, the flowers and food unknown, she was at least saved from the full impact of a scene like this.

Reopening her eyes, the scene was the same, but she felt more control.  

The only blood she had seen were from self inflicted wounds.  They had teared at their own skin, bit their own fingers, and scratched their eyeballs prior to death.  Something had induced insanity in the village, before they had died.  Drag marks indicated the bodies had been moved after death, to create the grotesque display.

Akali moved along the line until she was at the younger adults.  Kneeling down next to a purple haired man, she turned the corpse over.  Three days had passed, she estimated.  It was an unpalatable job, but she undressed the man and inspected him thoroughly.  She made no discoveries to discredit her initial theory.

_ Singed _ .

Things had to keep moving, and it was for this reason Akali fed and watered the chickens.  The activity was soothing.  In their wire mesh cages and wooden coops, these animals were indifferent to the loss of their gods.  They had clucked, were clucking, and would continue to cluck.  Akali had to take a lesson from them.

The sheep were fenced in a field with a creek running through, so she did not bother with them.

Standing in the middle of the village, she tried to think of what needed to be done.  Burying the dead would take weeks, and she did not have the time.  Was there a sort of checklist for the aftermath of such a disaster?  She hoped not.  She also wished Shen were here, to offer her some advice.  He could have made sense of the situation.

It could have been a message of some sort.  Actually, even if it wasn’t meant to be, it would serve as a message to the Duchess and her political opponents.  If this massacre didn’t spurn the Ionians into unity and action, nothing would.

A crash of metal drew her attention.  Akali stared at a nearby house, where it sounded like a pot had fallen onto the kitchen floor.

There was no reason for the sound – there was no wind, no fire, and no people.  Following marks in the dirt, where a body had been dragged, she approached the house.  It was no different from the others.  The possibility of a trap didn't even enter her mind.  She pulled the rickety door open.

It was a small house.  Immediately, she saw the source of the sound.  A metal pot lay on the floor next to an open cupboard.

A shadow above her, the shifting of cloth.  Akali moved in, and a small weight dropped from the roof.

It landed in the doorway, where she had been not a second ago.

A cooking knife was embedded into the wooden floor, held by small, faltering hands.

The girl struggled for a good two seconds before prying the knife out of the floor and nearly falling backwards.  Once she had regained her balance, she charged.

Akali brought her foot up and out, and the girl ran into it.  She dropped the knife, forcing Akali to kick it away before she fell on it.

“Die, nefarious Noxian!” the girl shouted, scampering on her hands and knees for the knife.

Akali stepped forward, grabbing the girl's arm.  “Look at me.”

The girl struggled a moment, greatly outclassed in size, before obeying.  Eyes widened.  “Not Noxian,” she said.

Akali nodded.  “What's your name?”

With a confident  _ humph _ , the girl put her arms on her sides and puffed her chest out.  “None.”

'None' was not a cultural Ionian name, nor any name she had ever heard of.

The girl knew the word 'nefarious', but Akali had a feeling it was several years beyond her comprehension.  Unfortunately, Akali was a terrible judge of age, and so she could only estimate that the girl was between five and twelve years of age.  Her uncanny climbing abilities and vicious attack indicated she was older, but her vocabulary didn't seem well developed.  Her hair, a dark brown, had been cut short – a common feature of children who grew up on the farm.  She was skinny, but not malnourished, and her skin was well tanned from what was probably long hours playing and working in the fields around the village.

Either she was an emotionless girl, or she hadn't yet looked outside and was completely unaware that her entire family and all her friends had been slaughtered.

“You don't have a name?” Akali asked, stalling.

“Name.”

In either case, there was a survivor.  The Noxians had made a mistake, and though Akali doubted it was from carelessness, she couldn't quite say what had caused them to overlook the child.

What was she to do, now?  It seemed like a bad idea to let None see the village outside.  Akali had a mission and couldn't let a child delay her.  The obvious choice was to bring None to a nearby village, and let them sort it out.  She wasn't the first war orphan, and certainly wouldn't be the last.

It was with this thought that Akali scavenged the house.  What did children need?  A blanket, food, water.  In the child's room, a stuffed poro – more grey than white from the passage of time – caught her attention.  She grabbed it, and added it to the pile of supplies.  

The father had likely been a miner.  Old pickaxes and chisels were hung on the wall, and large ores were on the mantle above the fireplace, treated as though they were trophies or family heirlooms.  It was essentially looting the house, but Akali couldn't bring herself to feel guilty as she grabbed a large, untreated, green gemstone placed on the centerpiece.  If not her, someone else would come along and loot the place.

Under the bed of the master bedroom, she found another gemstone.  It was more polished.  Large, brown, shiny, and round.  Akali doubted it was from an Ionian mine.  Noxus had some larger gems in their mountains.  As she picked it up, she heard a humming sound, as though a powerful force was contained within.  More than meets the eye, Akali wondered?  Not many families had magical heirlooms like this one.

While she was looting, None followed her throughout the house, watching her.  Oddly enough, she voiced no complaints as Akali took what she wanted.  Maybe she had some sort of understanding of the situation.

“We're leaving,” Akali announced.

“No.”

“Here.”  Akali handed over a wicker basket containing the loot.  “Hold this.”

The girl instinctively took it, struggling with the size and weight.  Her hands now occupied, Akali wasted no time.  Blindfolding a child before they could realize what was happening wasn't what Akali had trained her life in martial arts for, but it helped the process up greatly.

“I'm kidnapping you,” Akali said as None dropped the basket and started struggling against the blindfold.

The kicking and screaming only stopped a few kilometers outside of the village.

Because Akali couldn't accept 'None' as a name, None became Nona, and Nona was a child who didn't speak much.

Travelling with a child was slower than Akali had prepared herself for, and her patience was wearing thin.  They were travelling the road northward, and though she had a general idea of where the nearest village was, she kept a close eye on signs.  Nona struggled to keep up, jumping over puddles on the road and climbing over fallen trees, but she didn't complain.

Akali quickly learned that her silence was meant to build complacency, and that Nona was a clever devil.  It took her thirty seconds to realize she couldn't hear Nona's panting behind her, and Nona was already a hundred meters down the road, running back to her village.  Akali caught up in seconds, scooping the kicking and screaming girl up in her arms.

Not once did Nona ask where her parents were or demand to be returned home, though that might have been attributed to her vocabulary, which she had yet to prove was greater than twenty words.

Nona, who refused to either condemn or approve of her new name, only tried to kill Akali once, during their first night.  Death by head-to-rock collision was not in Akali’s interest, so she chased Nona until the girl climbed a tree and refused to come down.  She came down the next morning with a little coxing from her stuffed poro and canned soup cooked over a fire.  Afterwards, once Nona realized who the fire-starter and food-cooker was, the attempts were half hearted – only wanting Akali to chase her up a tree, because that was Nona's notion of play.

Akali's memory served her correctly, and they arrived in the nearest village within three days.  Heiwa village wasn't connected to the main road, so the Noxians hadn't passed through.  It was untouched.  A plain tucked away in the corner of a wide stretching forest, it was a pristine hideaway.

With Nona wrapped around her neck and basket in hand, Akali was greeted by the village elder.

She delivered the news of the nearby village, and was surprised by how willingly they accepted the child.  The accompanying gemstone might have helped the process, however.

“And her name?”

“Nona,” Akali said, feeling a little discomfort at offering the name she’d chosen.

There was also the discomfort of suddenly losing the child, who had  _ almost _ grown on her in the past few days.

Done with the distraction, Akali restocked on supplies and left the village.  It was time to refocus on the army marching towards the capital.  A repeat of the Battle of the Placidium wasn’t an impossibility.  It was as though everyone had forgotten how it had played out the first time.  Nobody won in battles like that.

 

The noise was obvious, like a bumbling boar rushing through the woods.  There was enough time to climb a nearby tree and wait a full minute before the scene began to develop beneath her.  Akali watched as a woman stumbled out of the bushes and leaned against a tree.  She looked thoroughly exhausted, as though it had been days since she’d slept and eaten.  Her eyes were wild as they looked around, and Akali realized her life was in danger.

Somehow, in a remote part of the forest, Akali had came upon someone’s last stand.

A moment later, new sounds were added to the forest’s ambiance.  These were more subtle, but unmistakably there.  More people, these ones quieter.  They were moving in synchrony, surrounding the woman who could barely stay on two feet.  She pulled out a weapon – a crossbow – and it was then that it struck Akali as  _ odd _ .

The woman was Demacian, not Ionian, yet she was alone and being hunted by Noxians in Ionia.  But that wasn’t the only thing wrong about the scene.  Akali couldn’t help but think maybe the impending fight wouldn’t be so one-sided.  Even as she had this thought, the fight was signalled by a branch snapping and all the men charging forward.  They emerged from the trees in number.

The first few were struck down by deadly accuracy from the crossbow.  Just like at the Battle of the Placidium, the rest didn’t flinch.  They were doped.  The woman dropped her ranged weapon and pulled out a sword.  For a few minutes, the forest was filled with reckless screams and swords clashing, and though the woman’s attacks weren’t as skilled as Akali had expected, they were enough to take on the Noxians.

The last man dropped to the floor, and almost without pause, the woman began to loot the corpses.  What kind of super-soldier looted Noxians corpses for Ionian currency? Akali wondered as she watched the woman pocket a few coins.

_ Ah. _

The battle wasn’t over.  There was one soldier remaining.  He hadn’t charged with the rest.  

From Akali’s viewpoint, she could see as he notched his arrow and drew the string back, taking aim.  Even though the Demacian began to react to the sound, it wasn’t quick enough – it struck her in the leg.  No matter how much it must have hurt, it didn’t delay the counterattack.  Without even turning to look, the woman threw a dagger and it struck the man’s throat.  He collapsed silently, pulling the dagger out, but it was much too late.  All he could do was try to staunch the bleeding with his hands, and in silence he slowly died.

The woman was too busy to notice that.  She had her own troubles – the arrow had been poisoned.

Without an antidote, however, there was nothing she could do.  In minutes, she was unconscious.

Akali dropped from the tree and cautiously approached the woman.

Purple hair was uncommon.  And there was the uncanny ability with ranged weapons and a sense of inexperience with the sword.  She was alone, but hadn’t used any magic to help herself.  It reeked of Unbalance – perhaps the only thing Akali could smell, now – and she knew she was letting herself get delayed again.  Still, she watched the unconscious woman for a moment, trying to come up with an answer to a question she didn’t know.

Her orders, in Shen's own words, were to avoid conflict with the Noxians, and report on their movement.  The Demacian had already killed all the Noxians, so there was no reason Akali couldn’t interfere now.  Was this what Balance wanted?  A solution, to this oddity?  If she let herself believe it had led her here, and witnessing the event hadn’t been a coincidence...

Astonishingly, the woman woke again, and began to move.  She didn’t make an effort to stand, but she began dragging herself across the ground, unaware of Akali standing next to her.  It was infuriatingly slow progress, and for the next half hour, Akali followed.  They moved not fifty meters, but by then the sound of a creek was audible.  A far cry from her destination, the woman fell unconscious again.

Again, it all felt so strange.  A knot grew in her stomach, and she watched silently, knowing with every passing moment the woman was coming closer to death.  Though she didn’t understand it, she began to understand that in the interest of Balance, the Demacian couldn’t die here.

It would be quick.  Bring her south, to Heiwa village, and leave her there.  They would heal her, or perhaps not, and then fate would handle the rest.  A quick, gentle tip of the scales was all that was needed.

Carrying the Demacian was a difficult task – she was taller than Akali and heavier too.  Fortunately, the trip didn't take as long as she had expected.  She found Heiwa village's herbalist picking plants along the riverside, humming to herself.  Akali unceremoniously dropped the dying girl, snapped a nearby branch, and disappeared into the shadows to watch the proceedings.


End file.
